


Fallen for a Lie

by rainyjaem



Category: NCT (Band), WayV (Band)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood and Violence, Character Death, Depression, Drama, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Humor, Government Agencies, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Suicidal Thoughts, Past Dong Si Cheng | WinWin/Nakamoto Yuta, Personal Vendettas, Sexual Content, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, Smoking, Weapons, do not copy to another site, it's a happy ending I promise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:27:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 66,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23999731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainyjaem/pseuds/rainyjaem
Summary: Jaemin has secrets. This is not some revelation for Donghyuck—far from it actually. He knew what he was getting into when he accepted Jaemin’s proposal with teary eyes and a blinding smile.Or so he thought.When Jaemin’s secrets lead to his obscure death on the night before they wed, Donghyuck begins to question everything he thought he knew about the man he was prepared to pledge his heart to. Before Donghyuck’s heart and mind can even catch up, his late fiancé’s interminable web of lies begins to unravel.
Relationships: Dong Si Cheng | WinWin/Nakamoto Yuta, Huang Ren Jun & Lee Jeno & Na Jaemin, Huang Ren Jun & Park Jisung, Huang Ren Jun/Lee Jeno, Lee Donghyuck | Haechan & Mark Lee, Lee Donghyuck | Haechan & Zhong Chen Le, Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Na Jaemin, Na Jaemin & Nakamoto Yuta
Comments: 72
Kudos: 115





	1. Prologue - Until Tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

> Each chapter will have its own specific playlist. Check out my master list of songs [here!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6lSfr9KwqZXd5zkQQmzrTy?si=OTSV50cfQayT5RHxY0dFEg)
> 
> DISCLAIMER:
> 
> Please keep in mind that my knowledge of the South Korean government and law system is limited to Google searches, and that can only provide so much information. I apologize for any inaccuracies that may occur throughout the story, but I hope you can enjoy it regardless! Also, this story has some heavy trigger warnings such as violence, blood, weapon usage, smoking and alcoholism, depression, and suicidal thoughts. Wow, sounds fun! But don’t worry, I promise it isn’t all tears and pain and fighting! A happy ending is in store for you :)
> 
> I will tag each chapter that contains particularly triggering content, but please, proceed at your own risk! Enjoy ♡
> 
> Infinite thanks to my absolutely incredible beta reader, [Nova](https://twitter.com/itzinnie). I don't know what I would do without you! I love you forever and always.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ['Until Tomorrow' playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/0n1AionQZ0xvywjynYAeXM?si=vK_CQCZdRFCylF-cIB9sbg)

“You know, it’d be nice if I could actually _walk_ down the aisle tomorrow,” Donghyuck chides, limping his way over to the dresser to grab a clean pair of sleep shorts. Jaemin chuckles lightly from where he’s sprawled out on the bed, arms behind his head, a playful smirk etched across his beautiful face. Donghyuck shoots him a glare, no malice nor anger anywhere within the typically hostile look. 

“Sorry baby, I just _had_ to tap that one more time while I’m still a free man,” Jaemin jokes and brings his left hand up to show off the gold engagement ring on his finger. 

“You idiot,” Donghyuck holds his hand up, matching ring on his finger, expression unimpressed. “We’re literally going to be married in less than twenty-four hours. You can ‘tap this’ all you want during our honeymoon.” 

Jaemin’s smile grows wider at his fiancé’s characteristic sharpness, reaching forward and pulling the now fully dressed man into his warm arms. The two land back on the freshly changed pillowcases with quiet huffs, Donghyuck immediately curling into the larger man. The moonlight cascading down on Jaemin’s face leaves Donghyuck nearly breathless. Even after four years of being together, Donghyuck doesn’t think he’ll ever be used to Jaemin’s beauty.

Donghyuck brings the pad of his thumb underneath Jaemin’s eyes, gently caressing the sensitive and sleep-deprived skin. While he has absolutely zero knowledge as to what Jaemin’s job is, he knows that it is incredibly taxing and often takes place during ungodly hours of the night. Jaemin can see the way Donghyuck’s brows crease in worry, so he brings his hand up to pull Donghyuck’s hand into his own, holding it there against his face. 

“I’m okay. You know I am,” Jaemin whispers, his sweet voice filling Donghyuck with a sense of security. Donghyuck nods and closes his eyes, nuzzling deep into Jaemin’s neck, leaving a quick peck on one of the marks he’d made half an hour prior. The cool metal of Jaemin’s necklace pressing against his nose provides an odd comfort; it grounds him, reminds him of where he is and who he’s with. He knows that arguing and pressing for more answers will only result in a fight, and Donghyuck doesn’t want to be one of those couples that fight the night before they wed. Jaemin completely engulfs the older in his arms, legs tangled beneath the bed sheets. He pets Donghyuck’s soft brown locks and closes his eyes, heart beating melodiously at the thought of the grand event that would come tomorrow afternoon. 

Jaemin proposed over two years ago, but his job left him too busy to properly plan a wedding, and he knew Donghyuck was a micromanager and always wanted to be a bit too prepared. The minute Jaemin called his fiancé to tell him he had about a month’s rest from work, the two were quick to jump on the opportunity and plan the event. However, as of last week, Jaemin had returned to his grueling schedule. 

When the loud ringing of Jaemin’s small black flip-phone disrupts the couple’s peaceful sleep, Donghyuck lets out a groan of frustration. “Seriously?! You’re getting married in like, ten hours! Can’t they have at least an ounce of consideration?” Donghyuck grouses, voice still raspy and low from sleep. Jaemin sighs and kisses his delirious boyfriend’s forehead, coaxing him back to bed.

“I’ll ask someone else to handle it, go back to sleep angel,” Jaemin whispers and successfully slips out of the bed and exits the room.

“You woke my fiancé, there better be a good reason for this,” Jaemin snaps in a hushed tone after flipping his phone open.

“Hey sleepyhead, perk up, I’ve got some good news for you.” Jaemin immediately recognizes the voice as Renjun, one of the few ‘coworkers’ he’s actually given permission to bother him when he is at home. Not that anyone else would need to contact him. Renjun knows everything and everyone, and if someone wants to reach Jaemin, it goes through Renjun first. 

“We’ve got his location.” Renjun finishes in a boasting voice. At this, Jaemin’s body immediately perks up and his smile grows menacingly. He looks out the large kitchen window, eyes trained on the full moon. “All you have to do is catch the bastard, and the case is closed! We’ve been after this fucker for over a year, boss is gonna be so ecstatic.”

Jaemin lets out a low groan at the thought of it finally being over. The case he’s been working on nonstop for over a year, the reason he’s lost months of sleep. If only he could share his victory with the love of his life, who is sound asleep in his bed.

“Alright...text me the location, I’ll be on it in ten. Talk to you later.” Jaemin ends the call and turns on his heels to grab his equipment, but freezes when he sees a somber Donghyuck leaning against the kitchen island. 

“You’re leaving? Again?” Donghyuck’s bottom lip begins to wobble, causing Jaemin to panic. The younger rushes forward and pulls his lover into his arms, shushing him calmly. Donghyuck can’t help the tears that well up in his eyes due to the frustration and anxiety bubbling within his chest like a pot of boiling water on the verge of spilling over.

“Shh, angel, everything is going to be okay. It’ll only take a few hours, I promise! This won’t be the first time I’m running on no sleep. No- please don’t cry, shh…” Jaemin wipes the tears slipping down Donghyuck’s cheeks, cooing at the small man.

“You- you can’t be late to the wedding! I’ve been waiting over two years for this moment Jaem, you can’t be late-”

“I wouldn’t dare. I’ve been waiting all my life to marry you, Duckie. Nothing is going to stop me from doing so, okay? Now be a good boy and grab me my jacket, will you baby?” Jaemin’s voice is so calm and so sure, Donghyuck doesn’t even hesitate before shuffling back to the bedroom.

Jaemin’s face falls the second he’s gone, because he knows so many things Donghyuck doesn’t. He knows so many things he wishes Donghyuck knew. He knows he can’t truly promise anything, even his return. But he would be lying if he said he didn’t know that was in the job description. So he continues to stay strong and keep an optimistic heart, because he knows if he doesn’t, the pressure of his job will eat him alive. 

Donghyuck returns, thick leather jacket in hand. Jaemin pulls it on with his help and quickly turns to cradle Donghyuck’s face in his hands. He pecks his forehead, each eyelid, his nose, and finally, he captures his lips in a parting kiss. It’s smooth and deep and filled with so many unspoken words, it leaves them both breathless.

Donghyuck walks him to the door and gives the man a final kiss, waving goodbye as Jaemin walks backwards towards his car. He feels the tears begin to build up again, but he wills himself to hold them back.

“When I come back,” Jaemin shouts into the silent night, disregarding any of his slumbering neighbors. “We’re getting married.”

Donghyuck lets out a choked laugh, tears slipping down his cheeks like hot wax. He smiles brightly and blows Jaemin a kiss. 

“I love you more than anything, my future Mr. Na.” Jaemin’s voice is much softer this time. It’s lost all of its characteristic hopefulness, and for the first time in his life, Donghyuck can tell that Jaemin is scared. Jaemin is scared that he won’t ever get to see Donghyuck’s perfect face, taste his caramel sweet skin, hold him in his arms as they drift off to sleep, ever again. He’s scared he won’t get to say ‘I do’ and pledge all that he has and will ever have to the man standing in his doorway. But Donghyuck doesn’t know all of that. And as quick as the fear comes, it goes.

As Jaemin pulls open the passenger door of his car and tosses his large bag into the seat, a quick thump against his back nearly knocks him over.

“You better come back right away, you hear me?” Donghyuck sobs into his back, clinging onto him so tight Jaemin can barely breathe. Jaemin turns to him with a soft grin, kissing him once again.

“ _I promise,_ ” Jaemin croons, breath condensing between them in the frosty air. 

“I love you so much,” Donghyuck’s voice cracks and somehow, Jaemin’s smile grows even larger. 

“Until tomorrow, my love,” Jaemin mumbles with finality before pulling out of Donghyuck’s arms and climbing into the car. Donghyuck watches with despair as Jaemin’s black car disappears into the night, fists clenching as he forces back another sob. The last he sees of his fiancé is the silver glint of his necklace underneath the large moon. It’s full, wide as a saucer in the sky, a gentle reminder that Donghyuck is being watched by the heavens above. He hopes the heavens will continue to be gracious to him as they have been for the past five years. He hopes Jaemin will return just as he always has.

Donghyuck is used to this. He’s used to being awoken in the middle of the night and watching as Jaemin leaves yet again, only to return early morning with bloodshot eyes and heavy limbs—and possibly the most frustrating—zero answers to Donghyuck’s lifetime of questions. 

But this time, everything feels different. It may be because their wedding is less than twenty-four hours away and one of the grooms is currently away doing god knows what in god knows where, but Donghyuck just can’t shake the feeling that this time is going to be different. He tries his best to ignore the pestering thought bouncing around in his brain, that there’s a possibility Jaemin won’t return- _no,_ Donghyuck refuses to let his mind go there. 

He drags himself back into the bedroom, flopping down on the bed and hugging Jaemin’s pillow close to his chest. He inhales the familiar scent of sweet peaches and light musk. The femininely fresh and fruity fragrance took Donghyuck by surprise upon first glance at the man who opted for an all black outfit six out of seven days of the week, and it took him a few months more to grow accustomed to, always preferring richer, spicier scents. As he spent a long while just analyzing everything that made his boyfriend _his_ , he realized that his scent was just another perfect piece of that wonderful puzzle.

Jaemin is filled with juxtapositions. His eyes are round and soft but his brows are thick and sharp, his cheeks are full and supple but his jaw is strong and squared, and his lips are thin, forever seeming to be in a perpetual state of _chapped_ , and yet, every time Donghyuck kisses those blessed lips, he’s always greeted by the delicate warmth and softness of them. 

But now that he is betrothed to the owner of this wonderful discrepancy, that saccharinely sweet and just as unforgettable fragrance, Donghyuck finds himself wanting to be surrounded by it, by _him_ at all times. Donghyuck had even noticed he started swapping out his expensive, musky and strong perfume for a softer, cleaner scent that complemented Jaemin perfectly. 

He closes his eyes and hopes sleep will fill the growing pit in his stomach. Donghyuck can do nothing but try to rest and wait like the obedient fiancé he is. He will worry about their future and he will demand answers as Jaemin’s new husband, but that will all wait until tomorrow. For now, he squeezes the pillow tighter, praying to god that Jaemin comes back to him. He promised he would. Jaemin would never break his promise.

⊹

Donghyuck jolts from his restless sleep when three loud knocks resonate through the house. He quickly scrambles out of bed and pulls on his robe while shuffling to the door, heart beating a mile a minute. He pulls the door open with a smile on his face, eyes squinting from the abrupt brightness outside.

When his eyes finally focus, his entire soul drops to the ground when the visitor is not his fiancé, but three men, two tall ones dressed in suits and one small one in the middle, dressed in a tight black outfit. They all have a small patch with an embroidered bird on their right sleeve. The same symbol that adorns Jaemin’s jacket. The man in the middle adjusts his round glasses and clears his throat.

“Are you Mr. Lee Donghyuck?” His voice is smooth but heavy, and his presence is suffocatingly respectable, shown through the strict posture of the two larger men behind him, as if they’re afraid to be even a toe out of line. But his face looks… _bored_.

Donghyuck swallows thickly, throat suddenly dry. “I am, who are you?”

“My name is Huang Renjun. I work with your fiancé, Jaemin.” 

Donghyuck knows. He knows before Renjun even has to say anything, and he immediately feels the familiar burn of tears in his eyes.

“I regret to inform you that last night, about forty-five minutes into the mission, we lost your fiancé’s location. We have confirmed that he is dead…I offer my deepest condolences.” 

“W-what do you mean he’s dead? Why would he be dead?”

“I’m afraid we cannot disclose that information sir, I’m sorry,” Renjun elucidates, face downturned in exasperation.

Donghyuck doesn’t say anything else—he can't say anything else because he’s crying. His chest aches and he feels like he’s about to faint because there is absolutely _no way in hell_ his soulmate is dead.

“We are more than willing to compensate you completely for your loss. And we will pay for any funeral services you wish to hold-”

“You’re going to give me _money?_ ” Donghyuck interrupts harshly. “I don’t want your fucking money, I want my damn husband!” He screams so loud he’s sure that if any of his neighbors were still asleep, the entire city is awake now. 

“Where is my fiancé?! You just said you lost his location, how can you be so sure that he’s dead?” Donghyuck is completely hysterical. He can’t even see the three men standing on his doorstep as the tears completely blur his vision.

“I’m sorry sir, but that’s confidential-”

“Bullshit! He’s my fiancé, I have a right to know! Where the hell is he?! W-was there an accident? Was he killed? What kind of job is he doing that he would be killed?!”

“Sir, I’m very sorry, but this is all classified informa-”

“No, no, no…this can’t be happening, this can't be real. He’s messing with me, he always likes to play jokes. Jaemin, this isn’t funny! Come out now, hm? Please, come out now!” Donghyuck wails pathetically, whipping his head around and peeking behind the three men in hopes of finding his smiling lover. But to no avail, Jaemin does not come out of hiding with a wide smile and open arms. The two large men behind Renjun are wearing sunglasses, but Donghyuck can see the way their lips twitch downwards in pity at his distress.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Lee. If there’s anything we can do for you, please give me a call-” Renjun tries to hand Donghyuck a business card but is met with a door in his face.

Once Donghyuck slams the door shut, he collapses to the ground, head hitting the door. He begins to hyperventilate, his breathing short and heavy. He grips the side of his head in an attempt to hold himself together because he can’t believe any of this is happening right now.

He has so many unanswered questions that it makes him sick to his stomach with anger.

_Where is Jaemin? What ‘mission’ was Renjun talking about? Why is he dead? Who killed him? But most of all…_

_Why did he break his promise?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading <3  
> comments and kudos are greatly appreciated ^—^
> 
>   
> if you’re interested in reading more of my work, feel free to check out my [twitter](https://twitter.com/rainyjaem) where i write short fics & aus.
> 
>   
> [my beta](https://twitter.com/itzinnie)  
> [yell at me here!](https://curiouscat.me/rainyjaem)


	2. Chapter One - They

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now we go to present times!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ['They' playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3E6fh4uCi0qfCWl2ujr2RV?si=PMillwn5St-L4hGPOn2Nkg)

Sweat trickles down Donghyuck's temple as Jaemin’s lips slowly make their way _down, down, down._ His back arches off the cold bed sheets, head thrown back against the pillow in pleasure.

“Fuck, keep go- don’t...stop…” Donghyuck breathes out, too lost in the way Jaemin’s warm hands feel around him to form coherent sentences. Jaemin brings his free hand up to pull Donghyuck’s chin down, forcing him to make eye contact. When Donghyuck’s glazed eyes meet Jaemin’s, all pleasure leaves his body and he feels himself grow pale and cold.

Jaemin’s eyes are hooded, dark, menacing. Suddenly, Donghyuck doesn’t feel safe anymore, and he wants nothing more than for the hands to be completely off his body. Before he can even question the man hovering above him, a hand is wrapped around his neck and Donghyuck is struggling to breathe. He brings frantic hands up to the large one’s cutting off his oxygen, eyes wide and watery and desperate.

“Jae…min…” Donghyuck chokes out, hands violently thrashing around and pulling at the deadly grip around his neck. Jaemin sits above him, face alarmingly blasé. The small layered crosses that always adorn Jaemin’s neck dangle in front of his face and blink at him mockingly, as if to say _God can’t save you from this. Can’t save you from **him.**_ Tears slowly slide down Donghyuck’s cheeks and his eyes begin to roll back, the burning of his lungs desperately crying out for a breath becoming so overwhelming he feels his entire body go limp. Soon enough, Jaemin’s figure begins to blur and Donghyuck’s vision becomes black and fuzzy around the edges, and then he sees nothing at all.

⊹

Donghyuck shoots up and grips his chest, mouth wide open but no sound coming out as he lets out a silent cry of both distress and pain. He feels the cold sweat dripping down his naked back and hot tears slipping off his cheeks and moistening the bed sheets beneath him. He quickly turns and rummages through his bedside table drawer, hands blindly feeling around for a pill bottle. Once he has the medication in hand, he frantically swallows down two pills with a swig from a half-empty bottle of vodka. Immediately, he feels his hammering heart and restricted breathing begin to even out, followed by the sudden burn of alcohol at three in the morning. Donghyuck falls back onto his soaked pillow and looks out the large window across the room.

It’s been twelve straight months of nightmares, all different but always ending the same. Jaemin kills Donghyuck. 

His therapist told him it was probably his mind’s fucked up way of coping with the trauma that occurred barely a year ago, but Donghyuck doesn’t see how nightmares of his fiancé murdering him is going to help him cope with the fact that his fiancé is dead. 

_”I know it sounds ridiculous, but this is how your mind is handling all of the guilt you experience. I know some part of you wishes it was you instead of him. It’s completely natural for you to think like that, you two were engaged after all. That is no ordinary relationship, and so yes, the nightmares are normal.”_

Kun tries his best, he really does, and Donghyuck acknowledges that. But Donghyuck isn’t exactly the most open patient. He refuses to open up about anything before the accident—hell, it took him three months to tell Kun why he was even there in the first place. Jaemin always taught him to stay guarded and only give out the necessary information to the necessary people. Why his fiancé lived his life in such a cautious and protected way, Donghyuck really wishes he knew.

⊹

Donghyuck walks out of the apartment that used to house two, his hands immediately finding warmth in his deep coat pockets. He pulls his black scarf over his nose and begins his twenty minute commute to work through the crisp morning air of early winter in Seoul. It’s not quite humid enough for there to be snowfall, but the chill that comes with soft snowflakes is evident. Donghyuck lets out a shiver as he turns down an empty street. He feels the hair on his neck stand up, and he knows. _Someone is following him._

The feeling is nothing new, for the past six months Donghyuck has constantly felt this enigmatic presence. It’s usually only there towards the end of the week, and then it's gone, only to return during the last three days of the week again, like clockwork. It’s never too close to cause Donghyuck any panic, but it’s definitely _there._ He knows he’s being watched more often than not, but for whatever reason, Donghyuck never chooses to worry nor confront the issue. He has no reason to do so, he does not value his life as he once did. 

Donghyuck gives the security guard a quick smile and darts through the doors with a swift scan of his employee badge, and he feels the goosebumps go down. He’s safe and alone.

However, the feeling doesn’t last long before he feels a strong arm wrap around his torso. Donghyuck internally groans and rolls his eyes, then turns to give his boss a fake smile. 

“Morning, _boss._ ” Donghyuck wants to puke at the sight of the man’s perfectly chiseled face. Over half of his fellow employees would die to be in his position, but Donghyuck would just rather die. 

“Goodmorning sunshine! How’s my favorite employee?” Jaehyun nearly shouts into his ear. Donghyuck keeps the painful smile on his face as he enters the elevator, Jaehyun trailing a bit too close behind for comfort. 

“Same as always, sir. Although, I can’t help but feel you should refrain from calling me that...it may cause a misunderstanding…” Donghyuck tries, but Jaehyun just pulls the small man into his side once again. His freshly pressed suit fits his body like a glove, his chestnut brown hair is styled up without a single strand out of place, and he smells like Dior cologne and aftershave. Donghyuck really has no reason to dislike him. In fact, a simple man like Donghyuck should be absolutely swooning over a quintessential CEO like Jaehyun. But maybe it’s that indescribable resemblance he has to his late fiancé that makes Donghyuck’s heart falter unpleasantly and his stomach churn with nausea. 

The elevator doors open and Donghyuck lets out an audible sigh of relief. He quickly escapes Jaehyun’s arm and scurries away to his studio, leaving his boss with an insincere bow and farewell. Once the door to his studio clicks behind him, he flops into his chair and blows a stray piece of hair out of his face. He’s about to doze off when a few gentle knocks snap him back to consciousness.

“Come in,” Donghyuck announces, already dreading yet another conversation with his boss. But when the door slowly opens to reveal a particular man with high cheekbones and a small smile, Donghyuck’s entire presence lights up. One of the few things in Donghyuck’s life that still brings him a semblance of joy: _Mark Lee._

“Wassup Hyuck, I saw you escaping Jaehyun again and figured you could use a pick-me-up.” Mark enters the studio with two cups of coffee in hand. Donghyuck smiles tiredly and takes a few sips, gesturing for Mark to take a seat on his couch. “How did your date go?” Mark questions, leaning back.

Donghyuck cringes and gives the man a sheepish look, toying with the yellow braided bracelet around his wrist. “About that…”

“Donghyuck! Do you know how difficult it was for me to schedule that? You said you were gonna give the dude a chance, what happened?” 

“Mark, it’s still way too soon. Plus, I’m such a drag and I didn’t feel like embarrassing myself last night.” Donghyuck pouts and leans further into his chair. He knows that a year of grievance is a bit over the top, but Donghyuck could care less what anyone else thinks is a healthy time to move on. Mark sighs and lies flat on the couch, looking up at the string lights hung against the wall.

“Okay, okay. I’ll stop trying to set you up, I get it. But you are _not_ a drag, Donghyuck, you hear me? You’re the greatest guy I know.” 

Donghyuck gives him a half-smile he hopes looks sincere enough. He stands and walks over to the couch, Mark easily opening his arms with a smile to allow the smaller man access. Donghyuck lies directly on top of him, curling into his arms. He watches the matching blue braided bracelet on Mark’s wrist slide down as he brings his fingers to card through Donghyuck’s messy locks.

“You okay? What’s got you so touchy-”

“Shush, I’m tired. Don’t talk. Wanna sleep,” Donghyuck mumbles and he feels Mark’s chest shake with mirth. Mark kisses the top of his head and pulls the younger even closer, Donghyuck easily succumbing to sleep in the dimly lit studio.

⊹

“How was that?” Chenle pushes the microphone away from his mouth and removes his headphones. Donghyuck’s fingers linger on the buttons of the control panels beneath him, his mind elsewhere. He nearly knocks his now-cold cup of coffee off the desk when Chenle harshly taps on the glass.

“Yo, Hyung. Are you even listening?” 

Donghyuck looks up at Chenle, the boy’s scowl large enough to make Donghyuck feel a tinge of guilt. He rubs at the aching muscles in his shoulders, shaking his head slightly.

“Sorry Lele, I haven’t been sleeping well. What verse are we on?”

Chenle sighs and steps out of the booth. His face barely twitches, more than used to Donghyuck’s wandering mind. “We just got to the third verse, you wanted me to try it with doubling. Don’t worry about it Hyung, we can work on it again on Monday. Go home and get some rest.” 

Donghyuck stands and winces at the crack of his back. He gathers his items and shuts off all of the equipment, ruffling Chenle’s blonde hair before the boy slips out of the studio. He finds his reflection in the glass window of the booth and chuckles pathetically. His hair looks dull and his eyes are more sunken than usual. If Jaemin saw his hopeless state, he’d surely be disappointed. He’ll just chug an extra big glass of water later, maybe that’ll appease Jaemin’s spirit. 

He taps his foot while he waits for the elevator, praying to whoever is listening that he is not stopped by any other coworkers, or worse, his _boss_.

Thankfully, the elevator doors slide open and no one is occupying the already claustrophobic space. He’s always one of the last to leave the company building, save for the many idols going in and out to attend late night broadcasts and schedules. Donghyuck used to aspire to be one of them. He wanted to be famous and loved by the entire world. Now that he knows the reality of it, has seen firsthand what this lifestyle does to a person, there is not a single cell within Donghyuck’s body that envies them. Of course Donghyuck is not much better than the idols he works with on the daily. He too fakes nearly all of his smiles, returns home with aching bones and exhaustion he’s sure will take years to make up. 

Donghyuck pulls his coat tighter around his body once he steps out. The temperature has dropped drastically, but the night is still. He hears the gentle hum of the city around him buzzing with life. He passes many couples and groups of friends, envying their carefree laughs as they make their way to clubs and karaoke bars. Donghyuck remembers when he used to go out on Friday nights, his daredevil spirit begging for a night out in the city. He remembers when he was happy. He remembers when Jaemin was alive.

His steps are with purpose, wanting nothing more than to drown himself in another bottle of alcohol in the comfort of his own home. He does not remember the last time he spent a night with someone other than Mark or Chenle, and even then, those nights always end short because he’s too embarrassed to drink around them. Too embarrassed to show just how pitiful he really is.

When Donghyuck turns down a corner much emptier than the bustling streets near his place of work, his ears perk up at the sound of shuffling footsteps not directly behind him, but close enough to know it’s his follower. Again, Donghyuck pays no mind to the normally alarming situation. He really doesn't care if this person wants to jump him and take his life. At least they’ll have the courage to do what Donghyuck does not.

He continues to walk farther and farther away from people (and safety) and closer and closer to his quiet neighborhood. The footsteps trailing behind him do not stop. Just as Donghyuck is about to turn around and confront the person—not because he’s scared, but rather, _annoyed_ —a firm grip on his elbow causes him to whip around with a cry, and he launches an impetuous first into the air. He’s met with a wave of perfume, so gaudy and strong it could only belong to _one_ person, and a familiar flash of a crooked smile shielded by long icy blonde hair; Donghyuck immediately lets out a sigh of relief as a result. Wait- relief? Donghyuck doesn’t care. He _doesn’t_.

Yuta dodges the punch with trained agility, that wide smile never leaving his chiseled face. “Easy there tiger.” Yuta’s naturally exuberant tone has Donghyuck resisting the urge to roll his eyes. 

“Jesus Hyung, you scared the shit out of me. How long have you been following me?”

Yuta lets out a cackle that sounds more like a choking cat. The large scar that mars the left side of his face stretches slightly when he gives Donghyuck another one of his characteristic grins. “About five minutes ago. Y’know, it's real dangerous for a pretty boy like you to be walking around alone so late at night. Lemme walk you home.”

Donghyuck wants to deny his request, but he still holds a great deal of respect for the older male in front of him, so he just nods and continues down the street. Yuta wraps an arm across Donghyuck’s shoulders and the younger cringes internally because he _knows_ he’s never gonna be able to get that smell out of his coat. It’s not that Yuta smells _bad_ persay, but whatever fragrance he’s been using day in and day out for the past five years just...isn’t his style. It’s floral and musty, veering on the edge of medicinal, like a rich woman from the early 1900’s, whatever the hell that means (but Donghyuck thinks that’s a pretty accurate description for the antsy man in front of him).

He quickly learns that Yuta cannot sit still. He capers between sidewalks and jogs down the street, only to whip around and bounce on his toes as he waits for Donghyuck to catch up. Donghyuck sees the uncanny image of a kitten buzzed from too much catnip, and he can’t help but chuckle at his should’ve-been brother-in-law’s antics. 

They reach Donghyuck’s apartment, and his heart aches slightly as he watches Yuta walk up the stairs and into his home. Yuta’s easy gait is similar to his younger brother’s, and it doesn’t help that he’s wearing a leather jacket identical to the one Jaemin always carried with him—weird looking bird patch on the sleeve and all. Donghyuck forgot just how many similarities the Na brothers shared, despite not even being blood related at all.

“Ooh, are you planning on moving out?” Yuta asks, pointing to the boxes strewn all across the apartment. 

“Mn,” Donghyuck hums.

Yuta flops down on the couch, arms spread against the backrest. Donghyuck stands in the entryway feeling a bit awkward because he really doesn’t know what to say. Jaemin always did the talking, and as much as Donghyuck loves Jaemin’s brother, he’s always struggled to understand him. The Na brothers seemed to have telepathy, having conversations right in front of Donghyuck without even needing to open their mouths. Plus, what is there to say after almost punching your brother-in-law in the face because you mistook him for the man that’s been stalking you for the last six months? Yuta may have a few loose screws, but a story like that would certainly sound crazy, even to the likes of him.

To make matters worse, Donghyuck’s throat is begging for a drink. His fingers itch for the feeling of cold glass against his sweaty palm. Yuta tilts his head, a few strands of white hair falling in front of his bad eye. When Donghyuck first met Yuta, the older’s appearance was definitely a shock. His hair was shorter and darker back then, but the nasty scar that began at his left temple and stretched its way down to his left cheek was still there. Much redder, much fresher, but just as menacing. And his eye—the eye that looked as if white smoke was swimming in it, clouding all of his vision—was just as blind as it is now, five years later. 

“You can drink around me, Duckie. You know I don’t mind.” 

Donghyuck’s eyes widen slightly. Does Yuta know about his impending alcoholism? No, that’s impossible. He hasn’t seen his brother-in-law in nearly a year, not since the funeral. 

Yuta lets out that ugly chuckle of his. “I’ve seen you at the bars around town. I would’ve approached you, but you always looked like you were lost in your glass,” he responds as if he can read Donghyuck’s thoughts. It’s annoying how perceptive the Na brothers are—were.

Finally, Donghyuck gives in with a sigh and disappears into his kitchen, because work was exhausting and monotonous as it has been for the past year. He rummages through the cupboard and opts for a lighter drink, not wanting to completely lose himself just yet, especially in the presence of another.

He returns with two plastic cups and a couple bottles of soju and cans of beer, quickly twisting the cap off and downing a shot. Yuta just watches him in reserved amusement before joining him on the ground and taking a shot of his own. 

After the two are halfway through their third bottle of soju, Donghyuck’s earlier resolve of not wanting to lose himself is thrown out the window. He breaks into a garrulous ramble. Albeit a bit slurred and all over the place, he’s finally able to hold a conversation with the older man.

“Jaemin was such a lightweight, he could never keep up with me,” Donghyuck starts, but it seems the mention of his late fiancé makes him think twice. “I miss him.”

Yuta, barely affected by the alcohol and the sudden drop in topic, nods his head. “Me too, Duckie. Me too.”

“I still have so many things to ask him, y’know? Like, I don’t even know what his job was. Do you know what his job was? You two seemed to know everything about each other,” Donghyuck mumbles, voice strained as if he’s one sentence away from sobbing. Yuta turns rigid, but Donghyuck is too drunk to notice. The older man stands and begins to collect the cups and empty bottles, but Donghyuck yanks one of them away, draining the last drop.

Yuta’s brows downturn sadly because he knows so much Donghyuck doesn’t. He knows so much Donghyuck deserves to know, but he isn’t the one to tell him. He will get his answers soon, Yuta has to remind himself. Soon.

“I think that’s enough alcohol for one night. C’mon, let's get you to bed.” Yuta lifts the drunken boy into his arms with practiced ease, gently tossing him over his shoulder. He kicks the bedroom door open and slowly places Donghyuck down, pulling the blanket up to his chin. He kneels down by his side and pushes some of Donghyuck’s overgrown bangs out of his face. Yuta frowns when he notices the severe eyebags on the sleeping boy. 

He remembers the first time they met, remembers how his little brother’s entire demeanor seemed to brighten around Donghyuck, how energizing Donghyuck’s presence was. He knew the moment he saw Donghyuck, surrounded by a dark cloud of grief as he downed yet _another_ glass of burning liquid in that dimly lit bar, that things had changed. Everything had changed. The boy in front of him is only a shell of the one he met all those years ago, and it breaks Yuta’s heart to see him so empty, so hollow. But there is nothing Yuta can do, his hands are tied.

Yuta stands and grabs the half empty bottle of vodka on Donghyuck’s bedside table, staring at it in vexation. He shuts the bedroom door behind him and stands there for a few seconds, the gears in his head turning. He places the empty bottles in the recycling and the full ones back in the cupboard, contemplating for a few seconds before pulling out a notepad and writing a small message to put next to the impressive (yet mildly concerning) display of alcohol. 

Yuta grabs his leather jacket from where it was strewn across the couch and fishes inside the pocket. He pulls out a crumpled piece of paper and stares at it for a few seconds, double checking the information on it. He glances behind his shoulder to make sure Donghyuck’s door is still closed before slipping the paper between the couch cushions. He nods to himself and makes quick work of ridding any evidence of his presence. Once he’s satisfied, he opens Donghyuck’s balcony door and deftly climbs over the railing, jumping off and vanishing into the night.

Inside Donghyuck’s bedroom, hidden on the underside of his bedside table, is a small black puck barely the size of a penny. Its small red light is blinking to show that it is on, and it is working. They are listening. They know Donghyuck is sleeping, and they know Yuta was there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> each chapter will be of drastically varying lengths and i currently have no set posting schedule, but i am aiming for about one to two chapters per month, depending on chapter length & life priorities. 
> 
> thank you for reading <3  
> comments and kudos are greatly appreciated ^—^
> 
>   
> if you’re interested in reading more of my work, feel free to check out my [twitter](https://twitter.com/rainyjaem) where i write short fics & aus.
> 
>   
> [my beta](https://twitter.com/itzinnie)  
> [yell at me here!](https://curiouscat.me/rainyjaem)


	3. Chapter Two - Sign

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ['Sign' playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6gApbtyrXBKUzYJiTZXuut?si=6i0ywrUlSA-XoN_N9amBLw)   
> 

“Sir, we have confirmed Agent YT07 has made contact with the target. How would you like us to handle the situation?” 

The large leather chair spins around to reveal a tall, lanky man with sharp eyes and plush lips. He plays with the gaudy rings on his left hand, and you’d think the obnoxious jewelry was to compensate for that pathetic excuse of an arm. His left arm has sunken into its socket, nothing but skin and bones, all of the muscle atrophied away. It has a lifetime of stories embedded in the grayish tone of the skin, much like his golden eyes that can bore holes into every man and woman alike. However, despite having an arm like this, his assertiveness is nothing to underestimate. Not at all.

He stands, and the wall of screens behind him cast a blue glow around his slim figure. His clean-cut brown hair is pushed up and out of his face, as always, and his designer suit is a sleek black and fits like a glove. His shoes _tap, tap, tap_ against the tile of his office floors, so clean you can see your pitiful reflection in it. 

He pops the top off of a ten thousand dollar bottle of cognac, pouring himself a glass, spinning it around thrice, and gulping down the twelve-year-old liquid with a satisfied sigh. Finally, he speaks.

“Leave it for now. I’ll let him think he’s in the clear, at least for a little while. For old times’ sake.” His eyes glint with sarcastic mirth, the slightest tinge of a smirk peeking over the distortion of his decorative glass. The expression is devoid of all warmth. His voice is unmistakable. It’s deep and crisp and could chill a ghost to its bones. 

The shaking subordinate bows deeply and exits the room, every muscle in his body relaxing once out of the presence of Satan himself.

⊹

Donghyuck opens one eye, and immediately he feels the crash of a hangover. Not an ideal way to wake up on a fresh Saturday morning, but again, did he expect anything else?

His mouth tastes like sewer and his stomach feels even worse. He slowly swings his legs over the bed, taking a few deep breaths and bracing himself to stand. He topples over with a devastating _thud, but then again, _did he expect anything else?__

Eventually, he gathers a fraction of his strength and shuffles over to the bathroom. As he rinses away another wasted night of his wasteful life, he racks his brain for any memory he can grasp onto. When his face re-emerges from the water, a toothy grin accompanied by a scathing scar meets him in the mirror. Donghyuck jumps and almost breaks his neck from how hard he whips around, but the person vanishes like the smoke of a blown-out match. That certainly makes Donghyuck question his sobriety. 

Hallucinations are not uncommon for the dreary man, so he really pays no mind to the scare he had in the bathroom. His feet drag behind him and the decaying wood of his floors creak like a moaning child lost in the night. His thick blackout curtains vanquish any sunlight that tries to claw its way into Donghyuck depressing abode. 

He opens the cupboard and mulls over whether he wants whiskey or vodka for breakfast, and then he sees a small note written in what he can barely even call chicken scratch. 

__

**“Don’t drink so heavily. Your liver is important :)**

**-YT”**

Okay, so maybe Donghyuck _hasn’t_ reached insanity _quite yet_. It’s really only a matter of time, but that’s more of a Monday night type of conception.

As he wanders aimlessly through his house, looking for any other signs that Yuta was in fact here, he soon gives up with a flop onto his couch. His brother-in-law never left any signs he did not wish to be seen. Although, if he really wanted to do a thorough job of disappearing and making Donghyuck question everything he has ever believed, maybe he should go for a less permanent, less…suffocating scent. That damn smell still lingers and it’s been hours since Yuta has left. Donghyuck is pretty sure it’ll stay soaked into his carpets until he moves out.

A gentle buzz from his coffee table grabs his attention. He checks the single notification, and as expected, it's from Chenle. Donghyuck has hundreds of contacts saved in his phone, a result of his _highly sociable_ (Donghyuck doesn’t really do much of the socializing part though) job, but only three people ever regularly contact him. Two of which he actually likes, the other—Jaehyun—well...Donghyuck would rather not ruin his already shitty Saturday morning by thinking about his boss.

>   
>  _**From: Chenle** _  
>  _**Received: 11:07am** _
> 
> _What time do you want the car to come pick u up?_
> 
> _**You** _  
>  _**11:08am** _
> 
> _wdym_
> 
> _**From: Chenle** _
> 
> _Hyung. Please tell me you’re joking._
> 
> _**You** _
> 
> _ofc i am_  
>  _who do u think i am? i could never forget._  
>  _u only talked about it everyday for the past two months_
> 
> _**From: Chenle** _
> 
> _It’s my first arena concert. It’s important._
> 
> _**You** _
> 
> _ik and i’m proud of u. 6 is fine :p_  
> 

Donghyuck opens his music app and connects his phone to the speakers in his living room, selects one of his lo-fi playlists, then tosses his phone across the room, not in the mood for any further social interaction until tonight. He has about six hours until he has to force himself to look presentable, and all he really wants to do is sleep (the chill music isn’t really helping this desire either). But then he remembers he’s a working adult, and adulting is a thing that must be done even on weekends. He slowly sits upright, fully aware of how heavy his limbs feel and the hammering in his head. With a final grumble of self-pity, he stands from the couch and makes his way towards the half-filled boxes in the corner of the living room. He’d started slowly packing his things a couple of weeks ago, got caught up in “work”, and hadn’t touched the boxes since. 

Most of the boxes in his living room are filled with the various books he and Jaemin had collected over the years: Music composition textbooks, steamy romance novels, and Jaemin’s personal favorites—crime novels. He removes all of the remaining books from his shelves, packing them according to the genre. He grabs the breakable items off the shelves and gently wraps them with some bubble wrap.

Donghyuck stacks a few more miscellaneous items from the floating bookshelves into the boxes and closes them up, grabbing a thick black marker and scribbling a label across the side. He makes his way into the bedroom where a few empty boxes sit at the end of his bed. He carries one under his arm and decides to tackle the absolute mess that is supposed to be his office desk. It used to be Jaemin’s, and Donghyuck never had the heart to clear anything off and actually use it as anything other than a large surface for storing everything he was too lazy to put in its proper place. 

He plucks a few random articles of clothing off of the black wooden desk and tosses it into his bathroom. Then, he gathers the scattered documents and papers that both belong to him and his late fiancé, glancing down occasionally when a word or title catches his eye. The only thing that really captures his interest is a single document with a list of what appears to be coordinates. There’s no title or names attached to the numbers, but they’re written in Jaemin’s handwriting. Donghyuck almost forgot what that looked like. He wonders where the coordinates lead to and why Jaemin didn’t label them, but then he gives it no thought at all, because if he starts thinking about Jaemin and all of the mysteries that came with said man, he’ll lock himself inside and refuse to leave his depression blanket for the next week. He’s simply speaking from experience.

After the desk is mostly decluttered, he begins to pack. He starts with Jaemin’s papers that he really has no reason to keep other than the fact that they belonged to Jaemin. Then comes the office supplies and the desk lamp, and then his hand freezes as he reaches out for the picture frames. He gulps down the brick that has formed in his throat and brings the frame closer to his face with shaking hands.

It’s not like he hasn’t looked at photos of Jaemin since he passed. Donghyuck spent the first three months following his death scrolling through countless photo albums of just his face alone (bottle of vodka in his free hand) and it took him another month and a half to build the courage to look at their travel photos, their celebration photos, their engagement photos. 

But there’s something about this particular picture that breaks him down ever harder. It’s the picture Jaemin carried with him everywhere. He kept it on his desk at home, inside the sun visor of his car, in his wallet, set as his lock screen—it was _everywhere_. It was a simple photo, nothing too classy or professionally taken. In fact, it was nothing more than a shitty selfie taken in a harshly lit ice rink. Jaemin was back hugging Donghyuck, their noses and cheeks flushed, their lips a bit red and swollen, a dead giveaway that they’d just finished a pretty heavy make-out session right there on the ice. Donghyuck remembers it like it was yesterday. He remembers how warm he felt with Jaemin by his side, the two slowly gliding around in circles hand in hand.

_“Jaemin, I’m really not good at skating. I’d rather not embarrass myself any further, it’s our first date and I’ve already made a complete fool of myself,” Donghyuck calls after Jaemin, heart beating in his chest and hands wringing together nervously. He catches up to his date, who’s bouncing on his toes as he waits in line to rent some skates. Donghyuck can tell he’s excited, so the pit in his stomach only grows larger. Finally, Jaemin turns to him with that large grin of his, and Donghyuck feels his cheeks heat up further._

_“Hyuck-ah,” Jaemin brings a warm hand up to caress Donghyuck’s cheek. “You’ve been nothing short of spectacular all day. What do you mean you’ve made a fool of yourself?”_

_“I-I spilled our drinks all over you at the cafe and I tripped and nearly fell into the pond at the park...and don’t even get me started on dinner…” Donghyuck trails off, eyes downcast to the floor. His lip starts to ache from how hard he’s chewing on it. Only when he feels a gentle finger on his chin does he meet Jaemin’s warm honey eyes._

_“Donghyuck, if you can’t tell just how much I care for you, and how much I want to **be with you,** then maybe this will help to convince you.”_

_Donghyuck doesn’t even have a chance to question or panic or even process what Jaemin just said before a warm pair of lips are pressing against his own. There’s a second where he freezes. A single, agonizingly long second where Jaemin begins to scream at himself for being so abrupt and forward but-_

_Donghyuck was doubting himself! Donghyuck was growing insecure and Jaemin would not allow it! Not if he could help it!_

_And then Donghyuck moves. He wraps his arms around Jaemin’s neck and pulls him closer, letting out a small hum of encouragement. Jaemin instantly clings onto his waist and deepens the kiss, slides his tongue over Donghyuck’s bottom lip until the smaller boy allows him entrance. When their hot tongues meet, Donghyuck can’t help but whimper out in pleasure. He entirely forgets that they’re standing outside of a crowded ice rink, and he didn’t even notice that Jaemin was gracious enough to shift them out of line and—barely—out of the way of some understandably uncomfortable patrons just trying to rent some skates._

_Before things get a little too heated, Jaemin gently pulls always, much to the dismay of Donghyuck. Donghyuck looks down shyly and Jaemin feels his heart swell with the overwhelming desire to keep this boy smiling and confident and protected. Jaemin presses their foreheads together and nuzzles his nose, smiling wide when Donghyuck looks up at him through his lashes._

_“I hope I’ve proved my point. Now,” Jaemin pulls them to the end of the line. “Can we please skate? I promise I won’t let you fall. I’ll never let you fall.”_

_Donghyuck giggles and lightly smacks Jaemin’s shoulder at his disgusting display of affection. Jaemin has successfully mollified him once again. “I know you won’t. You never break your promises.”_

Donghyuck’s burning eyes force him out of the dark hole he was one memory away from spiraling into. He quickly swipes at the moisture threatening to spill down his cheeks and forcefully turns the photo over. He can’t bear to stare at the smiling faces of the love of his life and a person he no longer recognizes: himself.

With the faces out of sight, Donghyuck feels himself begin to breathe again. However, his breath hitches when he sees a small black switch on the back of the photo, something similar to a button. Donghyuck is utterly confused. His finger naturally hovers over it and presses it once.

He jumps in place and nearly drops the picture frame when a loud creaking sound comes from the center of his bedroom, and a trap door swings down from the floorboards, leaving a large hole in the middle of the room. _What. The. Fuck._

He warily tiptoes toward the hole, heart thrumming in his ears. He slowly kneels down and peeks over the edge, immensely relieved that no ghostly hands reach through and yank him down then proceed to murder him on the spot. Not that Donghyuck would have any complaints.

He’s not sure what compels him to do the following, but he decides it's a smart idea to throw his legs into the pitch-black hole and dropdown. He lands on what sounds like concrete, knees bending under him with a dull ache. Suddenly, harsh fluorescent lights flicker on one by one, and his surroundings are revealed. Donghyuck gapes.

Six large screens cover the wall to his left and the first thought Donghyuck has is, _who is paying for this electric bill?_ The wall to his right is lined with glass shelves and wall hooks, also illuminated by harsh white lights. Donghyuck is a bit unnerved by the fact that at least two dozen weapons all varying in size and usage cover the entire wall, along with many other small gadgets and clothing items, but he also just jumped into a literal _hole in his bedroom floor_ without hesitation, so he’s not _that_ unnerved in the end. 

He walks closer to inspect some of the items on the shelf, reaching out and pulling a Glock from where it's hung on the shelf. He wraps his fingers around the grip, and it's a bit unsettling how much he enjoys the weight of the gun in his hand. He releases the magazine and his eyes widen to see it's fully loaded. A very dark thought, one he hasn’t had in months, flashes through his mind. He shakes his head and returns the gun to its holder. 

He messes with some of the other items: small handguns with different lengths of barrels, a large supply of carbines and a missile launcher, a slim sniper rifle, pocket knives and blades, a futuristic-looking bow and arrows that seem to be made out of some sort of black metal, large boxes of bullets, something that looks vaguely like a lockpick—not that Donghyuck would know what that looks like—some earpieces, lighters, different sizes of gloves, bulletproof vests, and, _holy shit_ , are those dual katanas? Why would someone need _swords_? He feels like he’s inside an action movie and he’s just stumbled upon someone’s secret lair, but why would there be a secret lair in the middle of his bedroom floor, and who the hell does it belong to? All this time he had been convinced his neighbors below him were just hermits who refused to leave their apartment when in reality, they never even existed in the first place! 

He turns his attention back to the screens that have now magically turned on, but he isn’t given any answers. Half of them read ‘no signal’ and the other half have random codes and numbers displayed. Donghyuck’s brain is starting to hurt. 

He slowly makes his way down the room, his entire body turning rigid and stomach dropping to the floor when he reads some of the framed documents on the wall.

_**Na Jaemin. Certificate of Acceptance into The Republic of Korea’s National Intelligence Service Training Academy. 2013/07/15.** _

_**Na Jaemin. Official Certificate of Graduation from The Republic of Korea’s National Intelligence Service Training Academy. Government Official Signature: Lee Taeyong. 2013/12/05.** _

_**Na Jaemin. Official Certificate of Acceptance into The Republic of Korea’s National Intelligence Service. Government Official Signature: Lee Taeyong. 2014/01/05.** _

Again, Donghyuck cannot stress this enough. _**What. The. Fuck?!**_

He cannot process the words his eyes are reading. There is no way any of these are real—they can’t be! Surely Jaemin would’ve told him...they’d started dating just a few months into 2014!

Donghyuck feels like he’s going to be sick. He thought he knew Jaemin more than anyone else in the world—save for Yuta—but now he feels like he barely knew his fiancé at all. It makes his skin crawl and his eyes sting with tears once again. Just how much was Jaemin hiding from him? 

He doesn't have any further time to dwell on this sudden blow to his heart, because a final light flickers on. Across the room, against the farthest wall from him, a large black safe stands tall, almost threateningly. Donghyuck traipses toward it, hands trembling slightly by his side.

When he steps up to the safe, the keypad and what looks like a fingerprint reader glow harsh neon green. He has absolutely no idea what the passcode could be, but he brings his thumb to the fingerprint reader just for the hell of it. When he presses his thumb to the pad and the safe doesn’t spontaneously combust, he breathes out a sigh of relief.

Donghyuck is completely shell-shocked to find that the safe seems to have accepted his fingerprint, if the small beeps of approval are anything to go by. Donghyuck knows for a fact that he has never seen this safe in his entire life, let alone programmed his thumbprint into it. The alcohol hasn’t damaged his brain _this much_ for him to forget such a vital memory. 

A loud ringtone blaring from above makes him jump, the overall bizarre situation causing him to be more on edge than usual. As much as he wants to just sit down here in this fully stocked secret bunker and force his mind to conjure up a plausible passcode option (which is nearly impossible), he has a duty as a friend and a renowned music producer to fulfill. He chews on his lip as he burns a hole into the keypad with his eyes, then swiftly turns on his heels and walks back over to the hole above him. He stretches his arms above his head, cracks his neck on both sides, bends his knees slightly, and takes a deep breath. It feels like an eternity ago since he last did any sort of movement training (or really any exercise for that matter), but he hopes his years of martial arts experience will still find a way to grow through the cracks of his broken body. 

He bends down until his hands touch the cold cement beneath him, launches himself off the ground, deftly gripping onto the edge of his open floor, lightly swinging his legs back and forth, and pulling himself up and through the hole. He pulls his legs up and rolls onto his bedroom floor, standing up with a triumphant smile. He half expected to land right back onto his ass and find himself in quite the predicament because of his lack of mobility and just overall horrible physical condition. 

The blaring ringing pulls him out of his microscopic moment of self-praise. He scurries to his bed and grabs his phone, sliding the answer button and turning it on speakerphone. Mark’s voice rings out through the silence of his bedroom.

_“Hey Hyuckie, I was just calling to ask what you’re gonna wear to the concert toni-”_

Mark’s voice cuts off abruptly when Donghyuck lets out a small yelp. He was reaching through the hole to grab the latch for the trap door, and he nearly fell right back in.

_“Donghyuck? Are you okay?!”_

Donghyuck lets out a brittle chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck even though he knows Mark can’t see him. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just stubbed my toe,” He lies.

_“Oh...alright. So, what are you wearing?”_

Donghyuck taps his chin in thought. He can’t remember the last time he dressed in anything other than his oversized hoodies and tattered jeans. Maybe he’ll actually try to look like he _really tried_ , for Chenle’s sake.

“I haven’t thought of that yet,” Donghyuck makes his way over to his closet. “But I’ll send a picture once I’m dressed. I should probably take a shower now, you know how long it takes me to get ready. I’ll see you tonight, kay?” 

_“‘Kay.”_

Donghyuck’s lip curls into a half smile, and his heart soars with the affection he holds for his best friend. He ends the call without any further conversation or farewells, because that’s just how their friendship works. They don’t need the extra words.

He kneels down on the ground and reaches back through the hole, positioning himself so he won’t fall in like he almost did before. His fingers search for the small handle, and once he finds it, he pulls back with all his strength, the heavy metal door finally being pulled shut. Suddenly, a small wooden slab that matches the color of the rest of his hardwood floors slides into place, leaving Donghyuck gaping. _That’s totally normal…_

His knees are starting to ache (it’s been a while since he’s had to kneel like that…) so he stands and makes his way to his bathroom, leaving thoughts of large weapons and graduation certificates simmering in the back of his mind.

⊹

Donghyuck shivers awake, and only then does he realize he’s completely naked; his towel had fallen open and the moisture had started to seep through his bedsheets. He groans and rubs at his eyes before checking his phone. He shoots up when he sees that he has thirty minutes left before Chenle’s car is supposed to pick him up. How the hell did he manage to fall asleep for a whole two hours?!

He scrambles out of bed and throws himself into his closet, quickly raking through the articles of clothing and settling on a few items. He yanks his legs through a pair of black skinny jeans, shoulders slumping when the material gathers a bit at his thighs. _When did he get so skinny? These jeans used to hug his ass and thighs so well…_

Next comes the shirt. He chose a black button-up that has a brownish-gold reflective sheen on it, something he wore to a coworker's wedding ages ago, and something he had absolutely refused to ever wear again because it was too...fancy for his otherwise mundane life. He leaves two buttons undone to expose his caramelized collarbones for no one other than himself, tucks the front into his jeans, and ties it off with a thin brown belt that sports an engraved silver buckle.

He scurries to the bathroom and pulls out his very unused makeup bag, rummaging through the contents and pulling out some mascara, eyeliner, and glittery taupe eyeshadow. He addresses the permanent rat’s nest that is his hair, brushing it just enough to remove any knots but still keep his loose curls. He quite literally slaps the makeup on, telling himself he’s going for a ‘smokey eye look’ because he has not done eyeliner in nearly a year and his attempt at a wing looks more like one big smudge. But if he says that’s absolutely the look he was going for, who’s to tell him otherwise? Finally, he blots his lip with a red lip tint and deems his face good enough. 

Donghyuck scarcely wears accessories anymore, save for the simple braided friendship bracelet he and Mark had made one drunken night in college. He pulls out a small necklace with skull beads and a corresponding bracelet, quickly clasping them on and actually liking the way they look. Skulls really represent his state of mind right now. He gives himself a once over, somewhat proud that he was able to pull all of this together and create what he would consider—a mentally stable Donghyuck. He isn’t, of course, but at least he _looks_ like it. To Donghyuck’s credit, he was once an incredibly stylish person and he hasn’t yet lost that touch of his. He loved fashion and jumped at every opportunity to show off his very diverse wardrobe, but that was pre-depression, pre-alcoholism, and pre-Jaemin’s death.

He flicks the lights off and halfway out the door to his bathroom, he freezes. He doesn’t know where the sudden urge came from, but he flicks the light back on and grabs the small chain bracelet hidden away in his medicine cabinet nonetheless. He stares at it for a few seconds, watches the way it catches the light and glints back at him like a wink. A wink that once belonged to a man with an ever-present smile. The bracelet is the last gift he ever received from Jaemin. 

He clasps it around his wrist and exits the bathroom once again, gathers his things and throws them into a simple leather bag, yanks on his all-black creepers and large black coat, and rushes out the door and down the stairs. His breath forms in puffs in front of him and the city buzzes with life around him. It’s Saturday night and it seems the entire city of Seoul has just awoken from a nap. Donghyuck looks around the corner, and then he spots him. His best friend exits a sleek black car, and he looks fantastic.

He’s wearing a black silk button-up that’s rolled up to his elbows, and it’s tucked into some tight-fitting textured slacks that show off his supple ass oh-so-well. Donghyuck smirks to himself. His leopard print belt accentuates his slim waist and adds a bit of _ooh la la_ to the outfit. Donghyuck has taught him well. He’s pulled into a hug before he can continue to ravish his best friend’s figure.

“You look so beautiful,” Mark breathes out, his hot breath making a shiver run down Donghyuck’s spine. He realizes he wasn’t the only one admiring the figure in front of them. 

“Ah, you must be freezing. Come on,” Mark pulls back and opens the door for Donghyuck, the younger man suddenly shy under Mark’s very blatant stare. Donghyuck looks around at the interior of the lavish vehicle—Chenle always loved to flaunt his wealth in the most practical of ways, not that he’s complaining. 

“It’s a bit much, but you know how he is,” Mark chuckles after closing the door behind him and scooting up to Donghyuck’s side. Donghyuck replies with a simple nod. The two remain silent the entire ride there, their thighs pressed up against each other’s, but the contact is not unwelcome and entirely comfortable. Donghyuck watches the rainbow of colors that fly past the window, the city reminding him of an always-turning kaleidoscope. It’s beautiful. He rarely finds beauty in anything these days.

Before they know it, their driver announces their arrival and they’re being led backstage to a dressing room. It’s hectic back there, the gentle bustle of staff running around with stage equipment and shouting orders blends with the low hum of the audience all rushing to find their seats. The venue is huge, as expected of an arena concert, and Donghyuck feels his chest swell with pride for his young friend.

The staff member knocks once on the dressing room door before opening it and stepping out of the way for Mark and Donghyuck to enter. They’re greeted with bows from stylists and staff members alike, and then Chenle turns to them with a wide smile, his eyes disappearing behind the slits of his eyelids. “Hyungs!” 

Mark and Donghyuck nearly bump heads and stumble back when Chenle launches himself at them. They let out an airy chuckle and pull back. Mark pats Chenle’s recently styled hair, cheekbones rising with a large grin. Donghyuck just steps back to watch.

“Hyung, I’m shaking so bad. Do you get this nervous before a concert? And oh my gosh, did you guys hear the fans? There’s so many! Also Hyung, how much water do you drink between songs? I’m scared I’ll have to take a piss during outfit changes, which’ll just delay every-”

“Okay, first off, breathe. You’ve performed on stage countless times, Lele. You won’t even notice the nerves until _after_ you’re already offstage. I promise. You’re gonna do amazing, don’t stress yourself out!” Mark interrupts Chenle’s onslaught of questions with a gentle pat on his shoulder. He has years more experience than Chenle, and he’ll never admit it, but Donghyuck knows he’s beaming with pride right now.

“Chenle, you’re on in five!” His manager shouts before rushing back out of the room. Chenle lets out a quivering breath.

Donghyuck steps forward and rests his arm on Mark’s shoulder, offering Chenle a crooked smile. “Break a leg kiddo, you got this. And if everything goes haywire and your concert totally crashes and burns, your Hyungs’ll take you out for a nice glass of soju and you can live in solitude in my studio. How’s that sound?”

“Donghyuck-” Mark tries to scold, but is interrupted by Chenle’s hearty, shrill laugh.

“Sounds great. Thanks, Hyung. I’ll see you guys after the concert,” he laughs out, shimmying on the shiny latex jacket his small stylist is trying to pull on. With a final swipe of blush on his face and a brush of a stray bang, Chenle is making his way out the door when he turns on his heels and faces his Hyungs.

“Oh and...thanks for being here. Especially you, Hyuck. It means a lot that you got all dressed up and stuff for me. Okay, Yeri looks like she wants to kill me, I better get out there. Love you both!” Chenle disappears out the door and they hear the deafening screeching of fans even from where they’re standing in the dressing room. 

Yeri, Chenle’s manager, shuffles into the room and motions for them to follow her to their seats, which are in a private suite room. Mark and Donghyuck take their seats, Donghyuck’s breath hitching when Mark easily pulls his hand into his own lap. Mark just gives him a small grin before turning his attention to the large screens that illuminate the entire venue. 

Two hours and a shit ton of screaming later, and the two are being led back to the dressing room, still hand in hand. Donghyuck isn’t exactly sure what’s...happening...but it’s not like skinship was uncommon for the two, so he ignores the growing pit in his stomach. Upon entering the room, Donghyuck instantly recognizes the tall figure in front of them, his broad shoulders blocking the view of their friend.

Donghyuck instantly deflates, and he feels Mark squeeze his hand. Jaehyun turns around in all his dimpled glory, a large smile lighting up further as his eyes land on Donghyuck. 

“Hello boys,” Jaehyun’s deep voice booms, but Donghyuck can tell the greeting was targeted at him. They bow, because he is their boss after all, and let go of each other’s hands. 

“I was just stopping by to congratulate Chenle. It’s always a pleasure to watch one of your idols perform. Truly a milestone in his career,” Jaehyun grabs his coat and folds it over his arm. “Well, I have some paperwork to finish up back at the agency. I’ll see you all on Monday. Amazing job tonight, Chenle. I couldn’t be more proud.” He gives Chenle a genuine smile and ruffles his hair, bowing to the other two and winking at Donghyuck.

As soon as the elder exits the room, Donghyuck makes an obnoxiously loud gagging sound, and his friends burst into laughter. 

“You can see his ego from a mile away…” Chenle huffs when the door clicks shut. Donghyuck nods his head in agreement. 

“Well, anyway, the staff and all the rest of us are gonna go grab a celebratory meal. Are you two going to join us?” Chenle speaks as if he already knows the answer, probably because he does.

“Actually, I’m kinda tired. I’ve had a...headache-” Hangover. It’s a raging hangover. “-all day. But you all go enjoy yourselves. The concert was amazing, Chenle.”

Chenle gives him a crooked smile, one that shows he knows the truth and he understands. He’s always understood. Then, he turns to Mark and raises a brow, already knowing what follows another one of Donghyuck’s polite rejections. They come in a package, always have since college. If Donghyuck doesn’t go, neither does Mark, much to the chagrin of the younger.

“Nah, I better get home. I have a schedule tomorrow. Thanks for the invite though, have a good night. I’ll see you back at the agency.” Mark pulls at his earlobe a bit, a nervous habit of his. Chenle nods twice and gives them both a final smile before disappearing in the direction of Yeri’s voice.

The car pulls up to Donghyuck’s rapidly dilapidating apartment and Mark gently runs a hand through his soft brown curls to coax him out of his sleep. Donghyuck scrunches his face adorably and lifts his head from Mark’s shoulder, offering him an apologetic smile. They get out of the car, Mark wrapping an arm around Donghyuck’s waist to steady him in his drowsy state, his other arm carrying Donghyuck’s bag.

They manage to stumble their way up the steps to Donghyuck’s door, and by then Donghyuck has woken himself up enough to put the code into the keypad. He turns to Mark and grabs his bag, then leans against the doorway because Mark looks like he wants to say something. He won’t meet his eyes.

“You okay?” Donghyuck inquires softly, voice deep and laced with exhaustion. Mark keeps his gaze down.

“If you ever need anything, and I mean _anything_ , Donghyuck. You know you can always come to me, right? Even if it’s the middle of the night or I’m in the middle of an interview or schedule or-”

“I know,” Donghyuck croons, running his fingers up and down over Mark’s bicep. “Trust me, Mark, I know.” He offers him the ghost of a genuine smile, which is a lot more than anyone else gets. 

Then, Mark steps a few centimeters closer, just a few, and slides his hand over Donghyuck’s jaw. Donghyuck’s more alert mind would be blaring sirens and alarms right about now, but he’s exhausted, he has a pounding headache, and he’s been craving affection for the better part of a year now. This isn’t the most ideal situation, and a far cry from the one thing that’ll sate the nearly insatiable craving he refuses to acknowledge, but Mark is his best friend, so maybe a kiss from him won’t make things too awkward and won’t make Donghyuck wake up with an even stronger urge to throw himself off a building.

They’re sharing breath at this point and Donghyuck’s Adam’s apple bobs, making Mark wonder what words he’d just swallowed down. But Mark, the ever-perceptible man that he is, sees all of these thoughts flash through his eyes at the speed of light, so he steps back. Donghyuck lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, which only confirms Mark’s conclusion further. He steps back, much farther than necessary, and tries his best to will down the heat racing to his ears and cheeks. 

“Goodnight, Mark,” Donghyuck mutters after snapping out of his trance, his one moment of weakness in the presence of another, the one time he nearly lost his control. 

“Goodnight,” Mark barely manages to croak out before Donghyuck’s door is being shut in his face.

_Fuck._

⊹

Donghyuck chucks his bag across the room and flops down on his mushy couch, kicking his legs up in the air in frustration. He turns his face into the cushion and absolutely _refuses_ to acknowledge what just happened (he’ll stress himself out over it for the next week) because his brain is practically begging him to just shut off and go to sleep. He presses his nose deeper into the crack of the cushions, a weak attempt at trying to suffocate himself right there and right now. But then he feels the gentle scratch of what feels like paper against the tip of his nose, and he freezes.

He shoots up and pulls the cushion up slightly, eyes narrowed suspiciously when he sees a small crumple of paper between the couch cushions. He grabs it with hurried fingers, takes a deep breath, and slowly unfolds it. He feels his heartbeat pounding in his head—that’s weird, he thought his heart was in his chest.

The numbers are written in a messy but familiar scrawl.

_**160524** _

Donghyuck will remember those numbers during his darkest nights, during his (rare) good days, and on his deathbed. He will _always_ remember those numbers. 

May 24th, 2016.

The day Jaemin proposed to him.

_“Jaemin! Let’s take a picture over here!” Donghyuck gasps as he runs his way through the lavender fields before him. Jaemin had suggested a spontaneous date on one of his incredibly rare days off, and Donghyuck was quick to jump at the opportunity to explore one of the flower farms in the countryside._

_Jaemin trudges his way through the deep field with a radiating smile, the weight of the box in his pocket a constant reminder of the rest of his life. He pulls Donghyuck into his arms and smiles up at his phone, and as soon as Donghyuck takes the picture, Jaemin pulls away and kneels down. The tears begin to well up before he can even try to hold himself back._

_Donghyuck’s shaking, beautiful chocolate eyes widening into saucers._

_“Lee Donghyuck,” Jaemin starts, voice strained as he tries not to cry. Not yet. “You are the most brilliant man I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. Your voice, your scent, your presence alone rejuvenates me and makes me want to be a better person. You make me want to be the best version of myself every day, all day. I have never and will never meet someone more perfect for me than you. I cannot imagine a future without you in it, by my side, with a wedding ring adorning your perfect finger. I want you in every form at every time of the day, for the rest of my life. So, my beautiful Donghyuck, will you make me the happiest man alive, and marry me?_

The tears fall before Donghyuck can help himself, and a puddle of moisture begins to spread across the small square of paper. He lets himself cry, because he’s alone and it’s late at night and he just can't stop it, so he might as well let it go as it pleases.

The wave of sadness nearly drowns him as it always does during the nights Donghyuck hates his existence with an unbearably strong fury. He clutches the paper between his hands and brings his hands to his stomach, doubling over on the couch and letting out a string of strangled sobs. His cries sound like he’s in such an immense amount of physical pain that it causes his breaths to come out in long, labored huffs. It hurts, _god_ it hurts so bad. His chest burns from lack of breathing but Donghyuck just can’t force himself to take a breath. He should probably stumble to his room and take his medication, but his body refuses to cooperate with his common sense. He wants it to hurt. He likes it. It reminds him just how much Jaemin’s death has affected him. It reminds him that he is completely alone when he strips down to the threadbare truth of his pathetic life. 

_Let it hurt so bad it kills me. At least then I can be with him. I won’t have to cry alone._

⊹

“ _God-fuckin’-damn it,_ Donghyuck bites out upon exiting his apartment and descending down the stairs. It’s raining. _Of course it’s fucking raining._

His eye bags are a menacingly dark shade of purple, a result of his nightmare filled night of sleep, or rather, lack thereof. He’s exhausted and his eyes are puffy from crying himself to sleep, and his alcohol-free night meant the nightmares were awaiting the closure of his eyelids and the evening of his breath. Like a predator stalking its prey, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce. The minute he drifts to sleep, the nightmares are never far behind. 

He opens his black umbrella and begins his commute to work, albeit with a stomp and a royally frustrated scowl. At least people keep clear of him, no one in the mood to deal with a very obvious ball of flaming irritation first thing in the morning. He notices the absence of his “stalker” as he walks through the morning rush, which is normal considering it’s the start of a new week. He expects they’ll reappear around Wednesday evening, as they have for the past six months.

He arrives at the company a few minutes earlier than usual, he didn’t even realize he was walking (stomping) so fast. He closes his umbrella and shakes his hair out like a wet dog, the water drops staining the pristine marble floor beneath him. His coworkers seem to notice his aggravated expression almost immediately, because no one so much as glances up at him. Well, no one except the _one_ person he wishes would never even come close to standing anywhere near his personal bubble. Wishful thinking, of course. 

“Goodmorning sunshine!” Jaehyun booms with a sickeningly sweet grin, wrapping a strong arm around his shoulders as they wait for the elevator. Donghyuck has zero energy and no patience to deal with his boss’s flirting today.

“Morning,” Donghyuck deadpans, eyes fixed on the descending number above the elevator. 

“Ooh, someone’s irked this morning. Maybe a fancy dinner will cheer you up. Tonight, at the La Yeon at six. What do you say?” Jaehyun smirks and pulls the smaller male into the elevator with him. Donghyuck has to bite his cheek to swallow down the aggressive rejection. But as soon as the doors close and they’re in the privacy of a tiny room away from prying eyes, he shrugs Jaehyun’s arm off and turns to him with a burning gaze. Jaehyun looks utterly unperturbed.

“Listen, Mr. Jung, I respect you as a businessman and I tolerate you because you are my boss, but I don’t appreciate the touching and the flirting in the slightest. This morning is already terrible and I’m exhausted, which is probably why I even have the guts to speak up. But honestly, sir, dinner with you is probably the last thing I would want in this world. I apologize if this is disrespectful, but I have zero patience today, and I don’t need you ruining my day any further,” Donghyuck’s voice lowers toward the end and his confidence from just seconds ago fizzles away like a dying ember from a campfire. Thankfully, Jaehyun’s gorgeous face is calm, almost _amused._

_This motherfu-_

“Oh, Mr. Lee. This is why I like you. I do apologize if any of my compliments or prior comments have come off as flirtatious. I’m a naturally touchy person and my words tend to hold a lot of weight to them that some may not be used to nor comfortable with. That is ignorance on my part. It was _never_ my intention to make you feel uncomfortable or resentful towards me. I treat you slightly differently than any of my other employees simply because I admire your talent and your work ethic. I mean it when I say you are my best employee, and I only wished to express my gratitude towards you. And I was inviting you to the company dinner tonight, an early Christmas present you could say, the holidays are only three weeks away after all,” Jaehyun uses his slender fingers to gesture with each word. He’s staring off into space as if his explanation has transported his mind elsewhere.

“You can decline the invitation, of course. I know you’re not one for social gatherings—at least not anymore. Again, I sincerely apologize for all of my offensive actions and prior ignorance. I will be mindful to not make you uncomfortable in the future. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost my best employee because of my foolishness, I’m slightly embarrassed,” Jaehyun chuckles, and for a second, Donghyuck sees some of his ever-present composure crumble. He scratches the nape of his neck and bows deeply. Donghyuck panics because his boss is bowing to him and that just isn’t right. He quickly grabs Jaehyun’s arms and pulls him up, a sheepish smile plastered on his face.

“It’s okay, really. I’m glad we cleared this up, sir. You don’t owe me an apology. And dinner...I’ll be there. Thank you for the invitation. Where did you say it was…?”

“La Yeon,” Jaehyun smiles, the crater-like dimples in his cheeks sinking. His eyes sparkle with mirth.

“Right, La Yeon. Well, I’ll see you tonight then. Have a good day, sir,” Donghyuck bows and turns to the elevator door when it dings open. He just wants to get out of there, the tension was nearly suffocating. When the doors open and he makes an attempt to scurry out, Jaehyun’s deep voice calls after him.

“Oh and, Donghyuck? If it makes you feel better, I like older, more… _authoritative_ …men.” He winks and the doors slide shut.

Donghyuck blanches because _how the fuck_ is he supposed to react to finding out that his boss, Jung Jaehyun, CEO of one of the largest and most successful entertainment companies in all of Korea, director to thousands of employees, likes to be _dominated_ in his relationship.

⊹

Donghyuck taps his chin as he scans through his closet. He never thought he’d have to dress up twice within the same week—the same _month_ even—yet here he is. It’s a holiday dinner, so maybe he should choose something holiday-ish? Whatever that means.

He settles for his favorite pair of black jeans, the ones that _used to_ hug his thighs perfectly, a white button-up, and a scarlet red sweater to layer on top. The silver bracelet he wore only a couple of days ago has yet to be removed from his wrist, so he picks out a few silver chains to compliment it. He brushes his curls up and out of his face—his forehead has become a rare sighting these days. His reflection in the mirror is almost unrecognizable to him. He looks like he’s actually _okay._ He can’t help the self-deprecating laugh that escapes him.

A small buzz in his pocket tells him that his taxi is waiting outside, so he pulls on some dress shoes, gathers his things, and scurries out the door. He mutters out a small greeting to his driver and occupies himself with his phone, scrolling through unanswered emails and nothing else, because he has no interaction outside of work. The only people he talks to, as in having a _genuine_ conversation that isn’t about the production of music, are busy and...avoiding him. Mark didn’t make his usual stop into his studio today, a telltale sign that Saturday night’s tension still carried it’s way over to the new week. He’ll have to address that sooner or later, and he’s almost positive Mark will be attending the dinner tonight, so it might be even _sooner_ than he’d like.

“Sir, we’re here,” the driver announces, parking the car on the curb. Donghyuck pays the fee and thanks to the man, bowing his head and exiting the car. He looks up and is greeted by a towering hotel far too luxurious for someone like _Donghyuck._ A neon sign that reads _‘The Shilla Seoul’_ lights his path to the entrance, along with a row of warm yellow lights and a large fountain. Guests are flowing in and out of the hotel, noses trained to the sky as they continue their snooty strolls. He feels _dirty_ as he steps inside and makes his way to the reception desk, like his very presence is staining the sparkling marble floors and dimming the crystal chandeliers above him.

“Hello sir, can I help you?” A small woman with a tight bun and pinched face asks, red lips drawn back in an obviously forced smile. Donghyuck knows he doesn’t belong here, so he shrinks in on himself. 

“Uhm, I’m looking for _‘La Yeon’_?” Donghyuck reads from his phone. “The restaurant.” He finishes with a mutter. He can tell the woman is resisting the urge to roll her eyes.

“Yes, that is one of our luxury dining options. Although, it’s quite expensive…” She gives him a once over. “Are you sure you’re in the right place?” 

Donghyuck holds back an offended scoff. He didn’t think he looked _that_ terrible, but maybe he was just delusional. All he wants is to run out of there and return to the safety of his decrepit apartment. He feels embarrassed and his nearly nonexistent self-esteem is depleting at an alarming rate.

“I, uh, y-yes I believe I’m-” Donghyuck tugs at his lip with his teeth, hands wringing together nervously. His fingers busy themselves with twisting at the yellow braided bracelet on his left wrist and he continues to stumble over his words in a nervous tremor. “I-I’m sorry, I-”

“Excuse me,” A deep and familiar voice cuts off Donghyuck’s anxious fit. For some odd reason, the stern voice keeps him grounded and makes him feel secure instead of irritated. He watches through his peripheral as his boss takes graceful steps up to the counter. The receptionist widens her eyes and bows deeply.

“Mr. Jung! Is everything alright? How are the servers treating you? Can I get you anything to make you and your party more comfortable?” She asks, tone high and flirtatious. Jaehyun waves her questions off, slowly reaching a hand out to rest on Donghyuck’s shoulder. This action is cautious and gentle, ready to pull away at any sign of Donghyuck’s discomfort. The younger smiles to himself, glad his boss is taking his earlier complaint extremely seriously. He leans into the touch and goes so far as to wrap an arm around Jaehyun’s muscular and firm torso, feeling less objectified and less embarrassed with such a strong presence next to him, protecting him. 

“A modicum of respect for my most special guest would be appreciated Ms…” Jaehyun squints his eyes condescendingly at the woman’s name tag. “Ms. Choi.” He finishes. Her eyes are comically large, and Donghyuck finds a twisted satisfaction in the fact that she is regretting her entire existence right about now.

Jaehyun tugs at his tie in a way that’s supposed to look intimidating, but Donghyuck knows the truth behind his boss’s bravado. He’s worked with the man for almost five years now, and this morning’s conversation had revealed a secret he would cherish in the mischievous, blackmail material part of his heart for the rest of his life. 

“O-oh, my apologies Mr. Jung, it was never my intention to-”

“I’m not the one you should be apologizing to, Ms. Choi. I do hope you will control your ignorant judgments toward future guests in the future.”

Donghyuck can see why this man is as successful as he is. He’s absolutely terrifying, but he keeps it classy and educated. It’s no accident that he is one of the richest businessmen in the entertainment industry.

“Right. My apologies, sir.” The woman bows to Donghyuck, and before he even has time to accept it, Jaehyun is guiding him to a separate part of the hotel lobby where some familiar faces are already seated and engaging in a cheerful conversation. Immediately upon entering the restaurant, the scent of outrageously expensive perfumes, overpriced alcohol, and gourmet food clouds his senses and he nearly chokes. Jaehyun must see the look of distaste on his face because he lets out a booming laugh.

“I know it’s not your scene, I tend to go overboard with my wealth at times. I do hope you can adjust after a few drinks, though. Order anything you’d like, don’t be shy. It is my treat after all.”

Donghyuck nods and thanks Jaehyun when he pulls out a chair for him. He takes a seat, and immediately feels the man beside him tense.

It’s Mark.

Donghyuck takes a large huff of breath and turns to his best friend with a warm smile. Two days of awkward tension between the two is plenty for Donghyuck.

“Hey, you look nice.” Donghyuck tries to smile wider. Mark must be thinking the same thing because his shoulders relax and he faces Donghyuck with his entire body.

“Thanks. As do you, although I expected nothing less. I didn’t think you were gonna show up.” Mark nods a quick thank you to a waiter who refills his water glass.

“Yeah, well. I figured it’s time I stop trying to hermit myself, it isn’t healthy.” He responds with a chuckle, muttering out an order of soda because this is certainly not the place for him to be feeding his impending alcoholism. He catches Jaehyun’s questioning gaze from across the table, so he smiles reassuringly. Jaehyun doesn’t need to know.

“Did you have any problems with the receptionist? She was an absolute nightmare, totally judging me and I didn’t even say anything!” Donghyuck scrunches his nose. Mark’s eyes shine with adoration.

“Nah, she knew who I was and asked for my autograph…” Mark scratches his nape sheepishly. “If only she knew who was behind all of that music composition she absolutely _gushed_ about.” Mark nudges his ribs playfully, earning a large grin in return.

The waiters swarm their table and take orders, the few dozens of employees that work in the music production department all shouting out their selections. Jaehyun must’ve reserved the _entire_ dining hall because not a single table isn’t occupied by someone wearing a _‘Dream Entertainment’_ lanyard. Donghyuck only knows about half of the people sitting around him, and only a quarter of them he can match the face to the name. Mostly the people in his team, the ones he has to ask for opinions and participation and collaboration. Donghyuck never made much of an effort to expand his social circle outside of the _many_ “acquaintances” Jaemin seemed to have. Donghyuck especially won’t be socializing now, more than ever.

“I saw you walk in with Jaehyun, everything okay? You didn’t seem as...tense.” Mark purses his lips and looks up from his salad with a questioning gaze.

“Yeah, he kinda saved me back at the reception desk. He must be a regular at this hotel. That lady was on her knees for him in a second, if you know what I mean. We had a little talk back at the company this morning about all of his...touching. It cleared a lot up and now I feel more comfortable around him.”

Mark’s fork is currently playing tug of war with a cherry tomato, so he’s only half-listening as he tries to stab the small red ball with more aggression than necessary. Donghyuck chuckles and places his hand on top of Mark’s, gently poking the tomato and bringing the fork to Mark’s lips. A small blush paints the tips of Mark’s ears as he takes it into his mouth, nodding a small thank you. Donghyuck pulls back and leans in his chair with a satisfied smirk.

“You know Jaehyun owns this hotel, right?” Mark asks through a mouthful of leafy greens. Donghyuck’s eyes widen as an answer.

“That’s why everyone in this hotel practically kisses the floor he walks on. You didn’t think he was _this_ rich just because he’s the CEO of Dream, right?” Mark cheekbones raise with a smile.

“Wow, I guess that makes sense. It makes me wonder what else he’s hiding underneath that gorgeous hair,” Donghyuck mumbles to himself, head tilting when his gaze falls on Jaehyun, who's booming with laughter across the table. His tie is loosened and a few strands of his perfectly gelled hair fall in front of his golden eyes. Donghyuck offers his boss a small smile when the man peeks at him during another rowdy conversation.

Once everyone’s entrees make their way to the tables, the conversations lower to a gentle hum. Donghyuck finishes his steak and begins to chew on his straw absentmindedly, a bad habit he’d picked up from his father. He doesn’t notice the way Mark’s eyes trail to his plush lips constantly moving around the small piece of plastic. He doesn’t notice the way Mark’s blush crawls across his cheeks and down to his neck. He doesn’t notice the way Mark’s heartbeat speeds up at the mere sight of him. Donghyuck doesn’t notice. He has never noticed.

“Thank you all for coming tonight, I hope the food, drinks, and company has treated you all well,” Jaehyun speaks above the chatter that has picked up with the end of their meal. “I wish you and your families a spectacular holiday season! I’m afraid I must return to the company now, you know, duty calls.” Jaehyun winks and a few low chuckles and giggles follow his words.

“The meals have all been paid for, so please take your time and exit at your leisure. Please return home safely, have a great night everybody,” Jaehyun finishes, taking his premium black credit card from the waitress behind him. He grabs his coat from the back of his chair, drapes it over his arm, and bows his farewell. Every employee stands and bows as thanks.

“It’s getting late, I should probably get going now.” Donghyuck turns to Mark, who seems to be in a drunken stupor as he downs the last bit of his beer. His eyes are a bit hazy and his cheeks are flushed, but he seems sober enough to stand on his own. He’s always been a responsible drinker.

“Yeah, me too. Let’s walk out together?” Mark asks even though he knows Donghyuck would’ve done it anyway. Some of the employees are still sitting and finishing their conversations and wine, but most have started to gather their things and trickle out of the luxurious hotel. 

Donghyuck shimmies on his coat and locks his arm with Mark’s, not because he thinks Mark needs the extra stability, but because Donghyuck has been craving some sort of touch...and this is the most he will allow himself. They exit the warmth of the hotel and a shiver runs down both of their spines when a chilled breeze blows past them. Mark faces Donghyuck and huddles closer, Donghyuck reveling in the warmth the older provides. Mark’s palm finds purchase on his cheek, and Donghyuck is pleased to find it’s still warm despite the cold winter air.

“Mark…” Donghyuck’s whisper condenses between them like smoke. Despite the hesitation in Donghyuck’s voice, the younger presses into the touch. Mark slowly brings a hand to rest on his waist, eyes flicking up to search for a sign of discomfort from his best friend. Donghyuck should push him away, shouldn’t let his friend indulge in a fantasy because it’s just that—a fantasy. They can’t be together, Donghyuck is too damaged and refuses to _do that_ to him. But Mark’s hands are so warm and he’s so close and his lips are _right there-_

Mark closes the distance before either of them can think twice. His lips are soft, testing the water before they grow hungrier and begin to invade all of Donghyuck’s senses. Donghyuck’s eyes flutter shut at a particularly hard push of his mouth, hands twisting in the fabric of Mark’s coat. It’s freezing and Mark is drunk and this is _wrong_ , but Donghyuck can’t stop. He _can’t_.

Mark pulls him closer and brings the hand on Donghyuck’s waist up to his hair, fingers tugging on those gorgeous curls he’s spent years longing to grab. Just as Mark is starting to come to the reality of the situation and realize this isn’t just another one of his drunk hallucinations, he’s being shoved away. They’re both panting and Donghyuck is very aware of how his fingers are itching to grab onto his friend again and crush their lips together, but he is also very aware of the wave of nausea washing over him. He hasn’t kissed anyone or even _touched_ anyone in a way that was any more than friendly in a year. He wants it, craves it, but he cannot let himself have it. Mark knew this, knew the way Donghyuck felt, yet still crossed that line. Donghyuck feels like throwing up.

“Mark, what the hell? Why would you-”

“Hyuck,” Mark moves into his space again and Donghyuck’s fists clench. He wants to move away. “Why are you denying yourself? I’m not stupid, I felt the way you were pulling me closer. You want this-”

“I don’t. You’re drunk, and you need to go home and sleep this off. This was a mistake.” Donghyuck turns away to wave down a taxi and _get the hell out of there_ , but Mark grips his wrist and yanks him around.

“Donghyuck, _please_ ,” Mark's eyes shine with tears and he looks absolutely devastated. “You’re my best friend, I know you better than anyone. You’re destroying yourself and denying yourself the pleasure of things that are _good_ for you.”

“Who the hell are you to decide what is ‘ _good for me_?’ You’re my best friend and nothing more. You know how I feel about this and yet you still-”

“Please.” Mark tugs him into his arms and presses their noses together, lips a measly centimeter apart. “Please don’t say that. You’re driving me _crazy_ , Donghyuck.”

Donghyuck yanks away from Mark’s hold a bit more aggressively than intended and ignores the way his heart twinges with guilt at his friend’s dejected expression. He needs to stand his ground and make Mark understand. 

“Mark, you’re drunk and you don’t know what’s going on. Please, just go home…”

“Don’t! Don't tell me I don't know what's going on when I’ve been in love with you for _years_. I didn’t kiss you because I’m drunk and lonely, I kissed you because I’m in love with you. I kept my feelings at bay because you met Jaemin and I was so happy for you both, I really was, but he’s gone now, Donghyuck. He’s been gone for a year and it isn’t healthy for you to stay so hung up on him that you refuse to acknowledge your desires. I-I’m not asking for you to suddenly fall in love with me and marry me, but I’m here for you in _every_ way that you need me, Donghyuck. Jaemin isn’t here anymore but maybe I can-”

“How _dare_ you,” Donghyuck spits. They’re still standing too close to the hotel to be in private, and although it's late, people are still walking up and down the sidewalks and doing their best to ignore the very obvious dilemma these two are in. Donghyuck doesn’t care anymore because he’s seeing red.

“How dare you try and tell me to move on from him. I thought _because_ you were my best friend, you’d understand more than anyone. You will _never_ be able to give me what Jaemin gave me. You will never be able to fill that void, _ever_. Do you understand me? You’re my best friend, but don't you ever try and tell me when, or how, or _who_ I’m supposed to _‘cope’_ with. You have absolutely no right to do that.”

Donghyuck is already turning away, tears threatening to spill over. Everything feels so wrong and he suddenly feels so extremely cold, but then there’s that godforsaken hand reaching for his wrist again and he’s being forced to face his problems instead of being allowed to run away like he so very much wants to do. 

“Mark-”

“I’m in love with you.” Mark tries again. “I’m so in love with you it physically aches my heart, Donghyuck.

The weight of that swings between them like a pendulum.

“What do you want me to do, Mark? Say that I’m in love with you too? I’ve only ever been in love with one person, and that person was taken away from me. I don’t even love _myself_ anymore, Mark. How could I possibly be in love with you?”

“Please don’t say that…” Mark whispers as he steps into his space _again_. Donghyuck has never seen his friend look so weak and broken, and he really needs distance between them, but Mark is reaching his hand out to cup his jaw again.

Suddenly, a large figure is stepping between the two, pushing Mark away before pulling him into an arm lock, twisting his arm behind his back. Donghyuck’s eyes widen in panic and everything moves so fast he barely has time to register that his best friend is being put into such a position in the first place.

“Agh! What the fuck-!” Mark cries out before his words get cut off with a groan of pain because their interlocutor is pushing Mark’s wrist between his shoulder blades. Donghyuck scrambles to grab his phone and call the cops, but then something sharp flies past him and nicks his finger, causing him to drop his phone onto the pavement with a devastating crack. Conveniently, no one seems to be occupying the sidewalks anymore so there’s no hope of calling out for help.

Donghyuck looks up at their sudden intruder with trembling hands and a hammering heart because he is absolutely not prepared for this type of situation. But as his eyes trail up, he sees a familiar pair of black boots, a familiar pair of black cargo pants, a familiar skin-tight black turtleneck, a familiar black _leather_ jacket, familiar hands covered with black fingerless gloves—the same hands holding a terrified Mark in place. Donghyuck’s arms go slack by his side when he sees the man’s face.

His mouth and chin are covered by a black face mask, but his sharp nose is peeking out, and, as expected, a simple black nose ring is decorating the small feature. And then Donghyuck meets his eyes, those warm, ever-present crescent moon eyes closed in a pleasant greeting despite his not-so-pleasant entrance, and Donghyuck feels every bit of his body begin to thaw at the sheer warmth of the man in front of him.  


“Jeno?” Donghyuck barely whispers, so shocked yet so overjoyed at the spontaneous appearance of the man before him. Jeno drops his hands, successfully allowing Mark to fall out of his grip and hide off in the corner. Jeno surges forward and Mark is about to jump back into alert mode, but then the man pulls Donghyuck into a crushing hug, much to the blatant confusion of Mark. 

“Jeno! Holy shit is that really you?!” Donghyuck cries, reciprocating the warm gesture twofold. When they pull away, Jeno’s eyes are still stuck in that beautiful eye smile and Donghyuck’s tears finally begin their descent down his cheeks, chasing that sweet relief. Donghyuck’s hands crawl up Jeno’s broad chest and start to dart all across his face, touching his nose and cheeks and ears as if to check that Jeno is in good health and that he is _real_.

Jeno grabs one of Donghyuck’s wandering hands and stares at the finger he’d cut in an act of uncharacteristic carelessness. He gives Donghyuck an apologetic pout then pulls a handkerchief from one of his many pockets to start dabbing away the small drop of blood on his knuckle. When it’s wiped clean and Donghyuck has reassured him that it doesn’t hurt at all, Jeno presses a gentle kiss to the pad of his finger and intertwines their hands. Mark’s mind is completely boggled. He has never seen this man before, and he has never seen Donghyuck look so—relieved? Excited? Genuinely happy?—in an extremely long time.

“Heyo Duckie, miss me?” Jeno’s voice is deep and teasing, and only then does Mark really start to take a good look at him.

His outfit is all-black and a bit...weird? Every pocket of his pants seem to bulge out, and Mark wonders just how strange this man is to be carrying around so much stuff. There’s a small black patch sewn into the sleeve of his jacket, and a red silhouette of a bird is embroidered in the center. Plus, he’s wearing knee pads...who does that? A large strap running across his chest holds a bag about half the size of his body against his back, and Mark doesn’t even want to imagine what's inside. He doesn't have a good feeling about this. Not to mention he’s totally gorgeous and his badass secret agent-y look certainly isn’t helping. His midnight-black hair is tossed back in a perfect messy swoop, and that nose piercing is such a stark contrast to his milky white skin that it almost infuriates Mark how beautiful this man is. How is that fair? And Donghyuck seems to _love_ him. 

“When did you come back to Korea? You look amazing, a bit more-” Donghyuck begins to feel up Jeno’s arms, much to the horror of Mark. “-muscular than the last time I saw you.” Jeno chuckles softly, running a gentle hand over Donghyuck’s unruly curls. What the hell, is he petting him?!

“Mmm…” Jeno looks off to the side as if he’s trying to think of an answer to Donghyuck’s question. “I got back today! A couple of hours ago. I didn't even have a chance to go home and change out of my...work clothes! I was just walking out of...that cafe over there!” Jeno points at the corner where there is, in fact, a cafe. Mark quirks a brow at the odd tone of this man’s voice. 

“I saw a very familiar mop of hair,” Donghyuck gasps in the offense as Jeno continues. “And my curiosity got the better of me. Fortunately, it _was_ you and my eyes weren’t deceiving me, but, _unfortunately,_ you seemed to be in the middle of a very...intense conversation to say the least. I was going to turn and walk away, but forgive me, I heard the tail end of your argument and felt the need to step in.”

“I’m glad you did,” Donghyuck bites, shooting a glare at Mark—he isn’t actually mad at him, he doesn’t actually mean it—and oh yeah, they were in the middle of a very embarrassing and very heated discussion before Jeno showed up. Mark is almost completely sobered up now, and with that comes the full-speed train of pure regret. 

“Donghyuck, can we at least talk about-”

“I’m exhausted, Mark. This was all a big mistake and tomorrow we’re both going to wake up and just wish none of this ever happened. This...this doesn’t change anything between us, at least not for me. I just think we both need some space to...sort out our thoughts and feelings. I’m sorry, but I really don’t want to be around you right now. Goodnight, Mark,” Donghyuck interrupts, voice laced with exasperation. He turns to Jeno and offers him a genuine smile, and the taller man wraps an arm around Donghyuck’s shoulders. Mark’s blood boils.

“Would you like me to get you a taxi?” Jeno asks politely, quietly, as a form of respect for the older man who is clearly breaking in half right before their eyes. Donghyuck shakes his head and looks across the street where a sleek black motorcycle is parked.

“Glad to see you’re still riding. Can you take me home? You know the way.”

Jeno nods without any further commentary, leading his friend over to his motorcycle. Mark watches with dismay as Jeno pulls a helmet on Donghyuck’s head and straps it, but not before tapping his nose with affection, the smaller man giggling in response. They climb onto the motorcycle with Donghyuck leaning into Jeno’s broad back, and the two ride off with a deafening rumble, leaving Mark cold and regretful and even more broken than before.

⊹

“Thank you for saving me back there. I’m sorry you had to waste your first night back on me.” Donghyuck kicks at the ground, his back pressed to the front of his door. Jeno offers him another one of his signature smiles, and Donghyuck feels that same sense of comfort that comes with being friends with such an angel.

“Not wasted if it means I got to see you. Are you okay? That situation with your friend seemed really...intense.”

Donghyuck gives a half shrug. “I’ll be okay. That was my best friend, Mark. You might’ve heard of him from me or Jaemin in the past. There was just a misunderstanding in feelings, that’s all.”

“Ah,” Jeno huffs. He’s always been a man of few words. Donghyuck really appreciates that right now.

“But enough about me. How are you doing? Where did your company send you this time?”

“Shanghai, it was a...six month project. And I am okay. I am very happy to see you again.” Jeno’s posture is so straight and rigid one would think he feels uncomfortable and unwelcome. But that isn’t the case at all, Donghyuck has finally concluded. It’s taken years of practice and experience, but if there’s anything Donghyuck has learned about the people closest to Jaemin, it’s that they’re all quirky and odd in their own way—but undyingly loyal to his late fiancé, and by default, Donghyuck. 

Jeno is- _was_ Jaemin’s oldest friend. They met in middle school and had been inseparable ever since. Yuta easily accepted him as another younger brother, so the three usually came in a package. Wherever Jaemin was, Jeno and Yuta were always close behind. Over the years of their relationship, Donghyuck had formed a strong bond with his lover’s best friend. It’s been a long time since he’s felt this...content. 

“I missed you. You showed up just in time, I felt like my entire world was starting to fall apart. Like everything was just slipping away from me.”

“Sometimes, when things are falling apart, they may be falling into place,” Jeno reassures with an air of seriousness that wasn’t there before. _‘Falling into place.’ What does he mean by that?_

“Yeah, maybe. Are you sure you don’t want to come in? It’s really cold out here.” Donghyuck gestures to his apartment door. “You know, this is so crazy. I ran into Yuta just last week, the first time I’ve seen him in almost a year. I feel like this is a sign, running into all of Jaemin’s people like this,” Donghyuck chuckles, and he has no idea how heavy his words are.

Jeno’s grip on the strap across his chest tightens slightly, so slight Donghyuck is sure he imagined it. 

“I must politely decline your invitation inside. It is late and I have a few things to check on so I can wrap up my...project. Let us meet up again very soon and properly catch up. There is so much I wish to tell you…” Jeno whispers the last part, almost entirely inaudible. “Please, go in first. You have my number if you need anything.” Jeno gives him another one of his ice-melting smiles.

Donghyuck nods, a bit confused as to why Jeno blatantly ignored his comment about Yuta. But no matter, if Jeno wants to say or talk about something, then he will. No use in trying to push him. He punches in the code to his apartment and enters, turning back when Jeno calls out his name.

“I hope you sleep well, Duckie. Please, be _safe._ ”

Donghyuck furrows his brows at the way he said that last word. He knows Jeno has always held a great deal of concern for his well-being, maybe he’s noticed the dark circles and just his overall depressive state? He’s gone through too much tonight to spend any more time dwelling on exactly what Jeno meant by that.

“Always am.” Donghyuck gives a small wave and shuts the door.

Once the door is fully closed and he hears the mechanical click of it locking, Jeno’s smile drops entirely. He reaches into one of his pockets and pulls out a small cube no larger than his fingernail. A camera. He reaches up and places it above Donghyuck’s door frame, positioning it in a way that’ll perfectly capture any activity that occurs right on his doorstep. Once he’s satisfied, he pulls his mask back on his face and double-checks that the bag on his back is secure. He walks over to the ledge of Donghyuck’s apartment building, glancing back to make sure he didn’t leave anything behind, then steps onto the cement balcony. He looks down, shrugging at the distance between him and the ground floor. He stretches his arms above his head then jumps down the three stories, softening his landing with an agile roll. He stands, looks up one last time, then hops on his motorcycle and rides away to meet with a man who is anxiously awaiting his arrival.

⊹

Seeing Jeno was definitely a pleasant surprise. Unexpected, but pleasant. He really did miss him and thoroughly enjoyed his company, but with his job keeping him out of the country more often than not, it’s always been difficult to spend time with him. When Jaemin passed away, Jeno had been a great comfort to him for the first couple of months following the tragedy. But before long, Jeno had to return to his hectic schedule and flew out of Korea before he even had the chance to say goodbye, leaving Donghyuck without any support or distraction to keep him from spiraling into the dark hole he finds himself inside today. He doesn’t blame him of course. There’s no one to blame for his self-destruction besides, well, himself.

Donghyuck finds himself smiling in the mirror as he mindlessly brushes his teeth and recalls the warmth radiating from Jeno’s aura alone. He hadn’t realized how...lonely he’d truly felt until now. Mark and Chenle were the only people left in his daily life that he’d considered more than just an acquaintance, but after tonight, Donghyuck really doesn’t know what to make of his relationship with Mark. Everything went downhill so fast and before he knew it, his months of pent up grief, depression, and rage had slowly built up so high within him, he just couldn’t hold it in anymore, and he projectile word vomited straight onto Mark. He didn’t mean to blow up on him like that, and while everything he’d said _was_ true, he never meant to direct it at the one person that’d been by his side this entire time.

Whatever. Donghyuck doesn’t have the energy to think about it right now.

He flicks the light off and shuffles his way to the bed. His face makes contact with the mattress and he lets himself lie there for what feels like an eternity. He’s brooding, he knows he is, but it’s been a long night. He’ll allow himself this indulgence of self-pity. Just this once.

He turns his head just enough for him to make out the silhouette of the large whiskey bottle he’d replaced on his bedside table a couple of nights ago. The moonlight from his window shines through the thick glass, illuminating the neck of the bottle. It’s pretty.

Donghyuck must really be out of it if he’s calling a whiskey bottle _pretty_ rather than snatching it up and draining half of it to hopefully ease his stormy thoughts—or lack thereof. 

His eyes flutter shut, a small sliver of that silver moonlight cascading its way down his right eyelid. When he sees the moon, he thinks of Jaemin. Jaemin’s bright smile could illuminate even the darkest of nights, his wide eyes the size of full moons. His soft touches and gentle whispers of sweet nothings that felt like Donghyuck was being kissed by the stars and the sky. Donghyuck was once considered the sun, but Jaemin will always be his moon.

A jolt runs through Donghyuck’s body as an epiphany slams into him like a truck. Before the blood flow can return to his legs, he’s stumbling out of bed and shoving his hand beneath the mattress. He feels around and grabs hold of the slip of paper in an iron grip. Donghyuck is almost winded by how fast his thoughts are putting the pieces of the puzzle together.

It’s all a sequence of events. Yuta. The secret room. The safe. The paper between his cushions. The numbers are written in Yuta’s handwriting. Jeno. _Safe_.

It’s a big jumble of cables and wires that lead back to a single power source. One common factor. Donghyuck just had to untangle them.

It all leads back to Jaemin.  
Donghyuck smashes his finger into the button on the back of his picture frame and whips around when he hears the creaking and clicking of the trap door. He doesn’t hesitate when he jumps down into the hole, eyes squinting as the lights flick on one by one. He doesn’t spare a glance at the bright blue screens or the illuminated wall of weapons, only charges his way straight to the safe standing tall at the end of the room.

He takes a deep breath—wills his nerves to calm down—and presses his thumb into the thumbprint reader. It beeps once, twice, and makes a noise of approval.

Good. Step one is complete and he’s still breathing. Barely.

A shudder leaves him before he can hold it back. The numbers on the keypad are glowing neon green, taunting him to put in a code. _A bit harsh on the eyes if you ask me…_ Donghyuck thinks.

He doesn’t need to look at the piece of paper that’s now damp from his sweaty palm to remember the code. _160524._ He slowly punches in the numbers, every muscle in his body clenched. He holds his breath as he waits for a sound of approval, denial, an explosion- god, _anything_ would be better than the deafening silence he’s being met with.

Finally, after what Donghyuck is almost positive was a goddamn year, the safe beeps once. Just once, and then he hears a click. The lights above him shut off one by one until he’s left in a small spotlight shining down on him and the safe from above. The blue screens at the front of the room begin to glitch and flicker until the six screens turn black with a red symbol displayed in the middle.

Donghyuck scrunches his brows and tries to make out the symbol. It looks like a silhouette of a bird in flight, a bit geometric in shape. Only then does he realize that that exact same symbol is painted on the floor below him in a dull red color. He stares at the large marking beneath his feet and racks his brain for any recollection of seeing it before. He knows he has. All this thinking is beginning to hurt his brain.

Then he remembers. 

That symbol was sewn onto the sleeve of Jaemin’s work jacket. It was sewn onto the sleeves of those three men that showed up at his house and relayed the most world-ending news to him. It’s sewn onto Yuta’s jacket, Jeno’s sleeve. And now it’s being displayed on six different screens and the ground beneath him. Suddenly, Donghyuck feels like that’s all he’s seeing. That red bird. That symbol.

Maybe it's a cult thing, Donghyuck really has no idea. Although, if Yuta is involved, he really wouldn’t put it past him. Realistically speaking, a cult seems like the most logical explanation right now.

Donghyuck hears another click coming from the safe and for a split second he thinks it's about to self-destruct, but when no explosion follows, he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He turns back to the safe and reminds himself that he really has nothing to lose before wrapping his fingers around the metal wheel and pushing with all of his strength.

It moves.

In fact, it keeps moving as he continues to spin it, and before Donghyuck knows it, the safe is unlocked.

The code worked. It really _worked_.

He pulls the door open with a sense of vigilance and slowly peeks inside. It’s too dark to see anything so he pats his pockets and feels around for his phone. He left it up in his room.

“Damnit,” he curses to himself. He trudges back to the shelf that is now blending in with the shadows of the room and squints his eyes as if it’ll help him see through the darkness. He makes out an outline of what looks like a potential flashlight and presses the button without any further thought. He startles when it flares a blindly bright red.

“That’ll work I guess…” Donghyuck mumbles and hurries back to the safe. He shines the light inside and widens his eyes at the contents before him.

The items inside are fairly simple and things you would typically find inside a safe. A large wad of cash tucked away inside an envelope, a few manila folders with bold _CLASSIFIED_ stamps marking the surface, a couple of passports from different countries, and a cellphone. 

He reaches for the passports first: a navy blue one, a red one, and a burgundy one. A passport from the United States, the People’s Republic of China, and Japan. Donghyuck is pretty sure this breaks like...every truth he thought he knew about a person's existence. When he opens the first one—Japan’s—his heart drops to his toes and his vision goes blurry with the instant formation of tears.

Jaemin’s picture is on the first page. It’s not a good picture by any means, he looks a bit washed out and he isn’t smiling with those pearly white teeth Donghyuck misses so damn much. But it's Jaemin, _his_ Jaemin. 

He opens the next one—China’s—and again, Jaemin’s picture greets him. It’s a different picture and the quality is a bit better, it looks a bit newer, but he isn’t smiling and that’s what Donghyuck wants to see the most. Lastly, he flips to the first page of the USA passport. As expected, it also belongs to Jaemin. 

Donghyuck may not know much about passports (he’s never even left his country) but he’s pretty sure it's not very typical for a person to own this many passports at once. Either Jaemin has citizenship in four countries or...or these are fake. And Donghyuck knows _that_ is illegal. 

He wipes the tears from his eyes and practically throws the passports back inside the safe. He grabs the files but before flipping them open, he hesitates. Donghyuck feels like he’s been suffocated by the sudden wave of lies and secrets and new truths, and the worst part is he doesn’t know which is which. He doesn’t know how much Jaemin lied to him and how much Jaemin hid from him, and he doesn’t know how much of it was true. Was _any of it_ true?

It’s not like he can ask him. 

He’ll save the files for later. He’s afraid of what he’ll find and his brain and heart can't handle much more.

That leaves the money and the phone. He doesn’t really _need_ the money, he’s quite well off on his own, so he leaves it. Maybe he’ll save it for a rainy day. He grabs the phone and immediately cringes at how _old_ it is. It’s a _fliphone_ for starters, and it looks extremely damaged. Like someone dropped it on the ground repeatedly. He flips the top open and subconsciously brings a finger to his chin while he contemplates. Every number key has been ripped out except for one. The number one is completely untouched.

Without giving his common sense a chance to catch up with his actions, he presses the only button available and brings the phone to his ear. It rings once, twice, three times. Donghyuck is mildly shocked to find it’s still in service after who knows how many years it's been down here. He doesn’t actually expect anyone to answer because he doesn’t even know who he’s calling right now, and yeah this is probably super creepy and really dangerous, but it's late and Donghyuck has lost all of his rationales.

_“Hello, Donghyuck.”_

The phone almost slips out of his hand from how hard he startles. He slaps a hand over his mouth to muffle his harsh breathing. He lied, he’s scared _shitless_ right now.

_“I’m glad you put the pieces together. I’ve been waiting for your call for nearly a week. I was beginning to doubt your competence.”_

It’s a man’s voice. It’s smooth and has a slight inflection of an accent, but his Korean sounds natural. A bit arrogant if you ask Donghyuck.

“Who are you? How do you know my name?” Donghyuck finally finds his voice and can barely hear the reply over the sound of his heartbeat in his eardrums. 

_“I knew you’d have a lot of questions,”_ he chuckles and Donghyuck hates how _refined_ it sounds. _“We’ve met before. I must say, I’m a bit hurt that you do not recognize my voice._ ”

What is this guy talking about? Donghyuck has never heard this voice in his life and now this man is claiming to have met him before? Donghyuck meets a lot of people and he will admit he forgets most of them, but surely he’d never forget such a sophisticated voice like this.

 _“Turn around, Donghyuck.”_ Donghyuck can hear the teasing lilt in his tone. His blood boils but then his mind registers what the man just said and now Donghyuck is almost positive his face has gone white as a ghost. He is absolutely not prepared to face an attack right now—hell, he’ll never be prepared.

He gulps and takes two steps around, his head pounding with anxiety and his chest gets that familiar tightening sensation. 

Thank the heavens above that no one is waiting behind him, but the screens on the wall have flickered to display what looks like a very spacious office. The walls are a pristine white and the shelves lining it look as if they’re floating. Small unidentifiable gadgets and stacks on stacks of files litter them. Donghyuck traipses closer to the screens and finds that the largest one in the middle is playing live footage. Suddenly, a man appears on the screen and Donghyuck almost trips on his own feet.

He’s sitting in a large desk chair, arms crossed against his chest, blonde hair mussed up, and bangs shielding his dark eyes. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and Donghyuck can make out the inky ends of a tattoo circling around his wrist. He has small silver-rimmed glasses resting atop his head, and his mouth is closed around what looks like a lollipop. A phone is pressed against his ear, and when he speaks, he _looks_ bored.

 _“Now do you recognize me?”_ He pulls the lollipop out of his mouth with a wet pop and his bright red tongue darts out to lick off the sugary sheen on his lips.

The blonde hair, the unperturbed expression, the small stature, the formal yet degrading tone to his voice. One name pops into his mind, a name he’d only heard once almost an entire year ago.

Huang Renjun.

Donghyuck doesn’t realize he’s spoken out loud until the man sitting before him grins all wide and proud. It looks unnatural on his face, a bit disturbing, like a Cheshire Cat who’s successfully pulled off another one of his tricks.

_“Ding ding ding! We’ve got a winner! Congrats, you get a medal!”_

He’s laughing. He’s cackling as if Donghyuck has just said the funniest thing in the world.

“Why-” Donghyuck clears his throat. “Who are you?” 

_“I’m Huang Renjun, of course!”_

There’s that damn laugh again. 

Renjun discards his lollipop off to the side and tugs at his black tie before continuing. 

_“Now, let's get down to business, shall we? Judging by the expression on your face, I’m sure you’re utterly confused as to why me, a strikingly handsome man who has suddenly reappeared in your life after a year, is talking to you through a screen found in a room concealed beneath your apartment floor-”_

“Wait a second, you can see me?” Donghyuck takes two steps back. Renjun visibly rolls his eyes and maybe he doesn’t look so dignified and poised after all. 

_“Of course I can see you, and I don’t need these screens to do so. Please keep up, Donghyuck. Oh and, you look like shit if you were wondering. This past year has really taken a toll on you, hm?”_

He smiles again but it’s softer this time—more genuine.

_“Anywho, as I was saying before you so rudely interrupted me, I’m sure you’re confused and I’ve been instructed to tell you that everything will fall into place soon enough. Trust your gut, Donghyuck. It’s been right so far, hasn’t it?”_

Donghyuck tries to decipher what Renjun is saying to him. Is he talking about the passcode? His _stalker_? No, there’s no way Renjun knows about that. How could he? Unless _he_ is his-

Donghyuck nods.

_“I’m on your side, Donghyuck. I’m one of the good guys. I’ve already sent some of my men to you, but judging from their reports, you haven’t seemed to recognize them just yet.”_

Renjun pulls his glasses down over his eyes and types something onto his keyboard while looking offscreen, tongue stuck to the corner of his mouth in concentration. 

_“These following weeks are going to be even more confusing. You’re going to question your sanity and more importantly, you’re going to question your safety. But I can guarantee you that nothing is going to happen to you so long as you continue to live your life the way you have this past year. You cannot talk about this conversation, you cannot talk about me, you cannot talk about the room that you are standing in. Not to your boss, your best friend, not even to yourself. They are listening, they are **always** listening. Do you understand what I’m saying to you?”_

Donghyuck’s heart rate is quickening once again and he feels like he’s about to throw up. _His safety is compromised? Why? How? Who are ‘they’ and is Renjun even telling the truth? He did work with Jaemin…didn’t he?_ His head is swimming with so many questions and his throat is begging him for a drink.

“How do I know I can trust _you_? The fact that you know everything about me...and you just said you can see me! That’s creepy as shit, dude! Like, major serial killer vibes!”

Renjun pinches the bridge of his nose and, yep, Donghyuck definitely feels inferior to this man. He glares straight through Donghyuck’s soul and he finds that he’s shrinking in on himself despite only speaking to him through a screen and a cellphone. 

_“Fair enough. If you don’t trust me, at least trust yourself. But trust me when I say this, you will regret it if you choose to share any of this with another-”_

_“Hey Jun, can you go over these case files for TY? He’s been riding my ass-”_

Donghyuck drops the phone in his hand with a devastating crack just as Renjun is whipping his head back to the screen with a panicked expression. He can see Renjun flailing his arms at whoever has just entered his office and interrupted their conversation, but Donghyuck is having trouble registering what just happened.

That voice is unforgettable. He hears it in his dreams and nightmares every single night, the sweet tone has stained his heart like fresh raspberries on sticky fingers; it is utterly _unforgettable_.

Donghyuck hurriedly scrambles to scoop up the phone from the floor as he watches Renjun reach for his own. He squints his eyes and tries to focus on the reflection of Renjun’s glasses. No...there’s no way that’s...

“Who-” Donghyuck can barely croak out before Renjun interrupts him, voice much less composed than before.

_“We will meet again soon.”_

Donghyuck doesn’t have a chance to ask any more questions—his brain is still struggling to catch up after hearing _his_ voice—because the screens go black and he hears the dial tone of an ended call. Renjun has left him with more anxiety and more questions than he originally had before descending into the room.

His heart clenches painfully and his hand shoots up to grab at his chest. That voice...there’s no way he heard it correctly. It cannot belong to someone who is already dead. It’s impossible.

Jaemin is dead. Donghyuck is losing his mind and he’s going insane and there is just _no way_ he heard the voice correctly.

But then again, Renjun _did_ say to trust himself. To trust his gut.

But can he even trust anything Renjun said? Maybe Renjun is setting him up, trapping him and luring him in with a siren’s song. Jaemin’s voice was a test and everything is a game and Donghyuck is going to be kidnapped and _murdered_.

What the hell is he even saying? His head is pounding and his vision is beginning to grow spotty. He feels like a lit cigarette that's just been trampled on and the smoke that makes up his sanity is fizzling out and leaving behind ashes of everything he thought he knew.

This is way too much for his brain to process in broad daylight at his most sober hour, let alone in the middle of the night after his emotional and mental stability has plummeted to absolute zero.

God, Donghyuck really needs a drink.


	4. Chapter Three - The First Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW for this chapter: mentions of death, blood & violence, weapon usage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay on this chapter! Life has been crazy. Thank you for your patience, enjoy!  
> 
> 
> ['The First Snow' playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4xYqxBQHPVD2KjnzJocwRd?si=ipJqzpmzTNaGI_fKR6H2kw)  
> 

The blaring alarm directly in Donghyuck’s ear jolts him awake. He squeezes his eyes shut and groans, slowly shimmying his way to the edge of his bed so he can drape his head down towards the floor. It helps get the blood flowing to his brain. Lord knows he really needs it. 

With his head ducked down beneath the bed frame, the loud alarm still ringing atop his bedsheets slowly grows muffled with each passing second that Donghyuck falls beneath the surface of consciousness. He feels like he’s sinking into deep water, his head is growing heavy from the odd position and his lids are beginning to droop shut as all sound fades out around him. He feels calm like this. Safe. He wants to stay like this forever.

_“They are listening.”_

Donghyuck’s eyes fly open and the shudder that runs through his spine makes him lose his position on the bed, and his head makes direct contact with the wood floor.

“Ow, shit!” Donghyuck scrambles off the bed and kneels down on the ground, rubbing the top of his head and trying to soothe the ache.

_Great,_ Donghyuck thinks. _Now whoever the hell is listening knows I’m a huge klutz._

Whatever. Donghyuck doesn’t have time to worry about that, and the fact that he’s remaining impartial to the recent discovery that he’s being watched should be mildly concerning to him, but it isn’t. Whatever happens, happens. He can’t control it and there’s no use dwelling on something that 1) he knows nothing about and 2) he doesn’t have the energy to do anything about. 

At least that’s what he’s been telling himself for the past week. Because if he really starts to think about how incredibly dangerous and _creepy_ this whole situation is, he’ll throw himself into a panic attack at 8:30 in the morning.

Wait.

_8:30?! Shit!_

Donghyuck is most definitely going to be late. He gives himself a total of two seconds to decide if it's even worth the frantic effort that’ll surely ensue if he decides to get up from the floor and try to get to work on time. Is it even possible? He’s supposed to clock in at 9am and it takes him twenty minutes to walk there. He still has to shower and get rid of any evidence that he drank yet another half a bottle of whiskey the night prior (his thoughts were really getting to him, okay?) before he can consider himself presentable for work.

But then again, he _is_ one of Jaehyun’s favorite employees. And it's not like anyone’s going to yell at him for being late—he’s a producer not an officer worker. Does he even have any scheduled sessions today? Probably. He _is_ one of Dream’s main producers. Damn.

Okay, so maybe he’s been sitting here for more than two seconds. Maybe like a minute. 

Donghyuck groans and stands, walking to his bathroom with hurried steps and jumping into the shower before the water has a chance to warm up. He’s an adult. Adults have to go to work even when they wake up late and feel like they’re two bottles away from alcohol poisoning. Adults have to go to work even if a practical stranger calls them from a TV screen locked away beneath the floorboards of their apartment—Donghyuck is aware it’s been a week since that night—telling them they’re being watched by _god knows who_ and for whatever fucking reason, said adult chooses to listen to them—

Donghyuck shuts the water off along with his rambling thoughts. He quickly runs the towel across his dripping body a bit too rough and ruffles his hair, choosing to ignore the absolute mess his wavy locks have become. He pulls on a large hoodie and jeans, grabs a hat because there’s no way he’s going outside with a wet mop atop his head, throws on a mask and another coat, and makes his way to the door.

He checks the time on his phone as his feet slip into his shoes and his hand reaches for his bag.

“Shit.”

_8:41am_

He must’ve daydreamed too long in the shower and now he doesn’t even have time to grab a coffee, and he’d rather not drink the _boiled dirt_ the company provides. He’s also come to the realization that he’s going to have to take the metro and it's been _years_ since he’s been on one of those. Claustrophobia is one of the many struggles he’s been blessed with—lucky him.

He shoves his earbuds in and buries his hands in his pockets before the tips of his fingers start to go numb. Donghyuck can sense the smallest hints of humidity in the typically dry Seoul air, and he quickly makes the assumption that it’s going to snow tonight. It’ll be the first snow of the season, and Donghyuck is absolutely _not_ looking forward to it. Donghyuck loved snow once upon a time, would grow giddy at the thought of watching the first snow with his lover, used to believe the old myths that the first snow represented everlasting love.

Like most things in Donghyuck’s life, it’s all complete bullshit.

Donghyuck scans his dusty metro card and walks through the station, maneuvering his way past bustling students and people wearing business attire with as minimal contact as possible during the morning rush. Despite not stepping foot inside a metro station for years, every turn he makes to get to his desired line is simply muscle memory. He scrolls through his unanswered emails as he hears the fanfare jingle signaling his approaching metro car. He doesn’t even look up when his coat rustles at his sides from the gust of air flying past him.

His fingers subconsciously grip onto the strap of his bag as he steps into the car and tries to bury himself in a corner near the sliding door. More people shuffle inside and before he knows it, he’s become a sardine. He tries to calm his breathing and point his nose up toward the air when he feels a couple people unintentionally press against him. The mechanical female voice announces the closure of the doors, and every passenger seems to squish impossibly closer. It’s relatively silent, everyone too tired or too focused on their devices to speak above a whisper.

Donghyuck pulls his mask down to his chin so his phone can scan his face, and he makes out the faint giggles and whispers of two school girls a few feet away from him. They’re pointing and doing a shit job at hiding their obnoxious fangirling over Donghyuck’s relatively handsome face. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t give his ego a much needed jumpstart. 

He returns his attention to his phone, and he almost drops it when he sees the date.

_**December 15th, 2019** _

One year. One entire year. Donghyuck never thought he’d survive this long.

Jaemin left this world one year ago. One year ago, Donghyuck was curled up on his living room floor sobbing his heart out and sinking in on himself until he almost drowned. The pain nearly killed him, just as it continues to do so now. He swipes a thumb at the tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. There are far too many people around for his liking, so he can’t just _break down_. He’ll have to save the sobbing for his studio. Just five more minutes and he’ll finally be alone.

The metro stops when it reaches the first station. Donghyuck forgets to lock his legs to mediate the force and nearly topples into the laps of some old women. He bows a few times and they give him gentle smiles in response.

All things considered, Donghyuck would say he’s coping pretty well. He can barely believe he’s made it this far, lasted this long _without_ Jaemin and _with_ this perpetually bleeding hole in his heart. Okay, he’s doing pretty well _physically_ , not mentally. If you ignore the fact that it’s only taken him a year to show warning signs of potential liver damage from all the alcohol, he’s about as healthy as a spring chicken!

_I’m alive_ , Donghyuck tells himself. _I’m alive, and that’s more than enough. More than I expected of myself. Enough to keep Jaemin happy up in heaven._

He tilts his head back in hopes that the tears will get sucked back in. That familiar tightening of his chest is beginning to restrict his breathing, and holding back his sobs is growing painful. He raps his fist against his chest a few times and coughs into his mask. A couple people standing nearby glance at him, but he does his best to pay them no mind. Suddenly, Donghyuck’s attention shifts to the way the hairs on his neck are standing up and he scans the car—the abrupt malaise is triggering his fight or flight response.

Across the car a man is standing tall. He stands out against the sea of people because his shoulders are exceptionally wide and his suit looks expensive. Donghyuck also notices because said man is trying (and failing) to avoid eye contact with him. In fact, it looks like he’s trying to go as unnoticed as possible. He brings a finger up to his ear and Donghyuck watches his lips move with a whisper. He’s much too far away for Donghyuck to make out what he’s saying, but his lip-reading skills are mediocre at best, and he’s almost positive this stranger definitely knows Donghyuck is staring at him, because he suddenly turns so his back is almost completely facing Donghyuck.

_That’s odd…_ Donghyuck thinks, shivering where he stands.

The metro exits a tunnel and sunlight paints every inch of metal and rubber and plastic surrounding the passengers. Donghyuck finally gets a good look at the man in natural light, and he squints to try and make out the words he’s saying into his ear piece.

_“Target in sight.”_

Donghyuck’s blood goes as cold as the winter air roaring past the metro. His skin is crawling and he has goosebumps—and it's not because of the weather. He’s grown acutely aware of the ache in his feet from standing too long, and now that he’s thinking about the ache, it's all he feels. His arms have gone limp at his sides and his fingertips are buzzing with numbness. A cold sheen of sweat begins to form on his forehead. He couldn’t have seen that right-

_“You’re going to question your sanity.”_

_“Nothing is going to happen to you.”_

_“Trust your gut, Donghyuck.”_

Donghyuck feels winded. Renjun’s voice is flooding his head and he can barely distinguish the jumble of words swimming around in his mind.

_“Trust your gut.”_

Donghyuck’s gut is telling him this man is _not_ on his side. Donghyuck’s gut is telling him he’s not safe.

A man bumps into him as he makes his way to the now open doors, successfully jolting Donghyuck out of his mini crisis. Donghyuck looks up at the screen and puffs out a breath of relief. This is his stop.

He quickly gathers himself and shuffles out of the metro with the rest of the crowd, doing his best to blend in. Once he’s in the station, he glances behind his shoulder and his heart drops when he sees the strange man staring straight at him as he steps off the metro car. A mask shields half of his face and Donghyuck’s mind is struggling to make out his appearance. 

He faces forward and hurriedly walks toward the exit. His pace is fast enough to encourage the rising panic in his chest but not enough to look too suspicious. His mind is screaming at him to just _get out of there,_ but his legs are hurting _so bad._

_Why are they hurting so suddenly? Why now, when I need to run away?_

Donghyuck is about to trip over his feet, but instead he slams head first into one of the pillars placed in the center of the station. Now both his legs and his head are throbbing, and he’s most definitely announced his location to the man now heading straight for him. _This is it,_ Donghyuck cries internally. _This is my end. I’m going to die in the middle of a damn metro station. Lucky me._

Before Donghyuck has a chance to turn around or cry out for help, a firm hand is gripping onto his arm. Donghyuck jolts so bad his body nearly disconnects from his soul. His head whips behind and up at the tall figure standing over him, and the tears and relief surge forward the same time as his body.

He crashes into the body standing behind him, wrapping his arms around the slim and toned torso, nuzzling his nose into the strong shoulder as warm hands begin to pet his hair and pull him closer. His eyes flicker past his shoulder, and he lets out a cry of relief when he sees the disconcerting man widen his eyes ever so slightly, immediately change course, and disappear into the bustling crowd. Donghyuck doesn’t realize he’s crying into the patch of fabric his face is buried in until it begins to grow damp underneath his nose. He barely registers the soothing shushes of the man holding him, or the way he gently maneuvers them over to a secluded corner of the station.

“Shh, I’m here Donghyuck, I’m here. You’re safe,” Jeno whispers into his hair, rubbing at his nape to help quell the overwhelming torrent of dismay. Jeno’s voice sounds breathless and panicked (as panicked as someone as level-headed as Jeno can sound), like he’s just taken a jog around the block. It’s unsettling to hear Jeno sound so perturbed. 

Jeno pulls back just enough to see Donghyuck’s face, but his movements are slow lest he startle him any further. “Look at me, Duckie. Are you alright?”

Donghyuck tilts his head up at Jeno’s gentle voice and nods, and the larger man coos at his puffy eyes and snotty nose. The pads of his thumbs swipe beneath Donghyuck’s water lines and his calloused hands find purchase on Donghyuck’s jaw. 

“Let’s get out of here, okay?”

Donghyuck is afraid he’ll start crying if he opens his mouth, so he simply nods again. He doesn’t ask any questions as Jeno locks their hands and guides him out of the station. He forces the bubbling questions—such as _Why are you here? Who was that man? Am I in danger?_ —down to the deepest part of his heart. If there’s anything he’s learned over the years, it's to never ask Jeno (or anyone else close to Jaemin, for that matter) any unnecessary questions. Jeno will tell him what he needs to know. That much, Donghyuck is sure of.

“Are you alright?” Jeno asks for the umpteenth time as they walk through the revolving door of Donghyuck’s company.

“Yes, I’m okay now. Thank you for walking me here.” Donghyuck tucks a loose strand of hair behind his ear. Jeno smiles at him—the smile that can thaw an iceberg. He leans in for a final hug, and as Donghyuck buries his face in the crook of Jeno’s pale neck and slowly begins to take in the taller man’s crisp and clean scent (he smells like cucumber melon and fresh laundry, to be exact), a certain someone walking through the door catches his eye.

Mark makes eye contact with him, gives him an incredulous look and a once over of the hugging friends, and quickly darts off in the direction of the elevators. You’d think a week would be long enough for him to get over their discussion all those nights ago, but apparently not. Donghyuck guesses he’ll have to be the one to apologize. For what? Donghyuck isn’t quite sure.

“Have a good day, Duckie. Text me if you need anything.” He smiles yet again. It does wonders for calming the final tendrils of Donghyuck’s anxiety.

“Mn. Thanks again, bye Jen.” Donghyuck walks off and scans his badge to get to the elevators. He turns back and gives Jeno a final wave, then disappears into a crowd of employees.

⊹

Jeno’s smile drops in an instant and he exhales a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding. He glances over at the women at the front desk, then the group of men in suits walking through the door, then what Jeno can only assume is a very exhausted looking idol group exiting the elevators. He double and triple checks his surroundings, scans each person and ingrains their faces into his mind before finally turning on his heels and walking out into the cold air. He pulls his black hood over his head and shoves his hands in his pockets. A few left turns and he’s walking down an alley where his motorcycle is waiting for him, concealed by the shadows.

He pulls his earpiece out of his pocket and nestles it into his ear.

“Who was that?” Jeno asks, leaning against his motorcycle.

_“I’m doing facial recognition right now, one sec,”_ The voice responds in an instant. Jeno pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose and crosses his arms against his chest as he waits for an answer. While waiting, he hears the distinct sound of a bag crinkling and soft chewing in his left ear. He chuckles to himself.

_“This motherfucker…”_ Jeno hears the voice curse into his ear.

“What’s wrong? Who is it?”

_“Check your files, I’m sending the photos over now. You aren’t gonna believe this.”_

Jeno taps the temple of his glasses and a buffering symbol is projected onto his lenses. It takes three seconds for the photos to load, but when they do, Jeno freezes.

The photos scroll past one by one, each one a different angle and different photo of the same man. A screenshot of CCTV footage from twenty minutes ago gets Jeno’s tongue functioning again.

“Hold on, that one.” The scrolling stops. “Zoom in.” The photo is zoomed into the man’s mask-covered face.

_“What the hell…” Jeno whispers to himself. “This can’t be right! Yukhei killed him over two years ago!”_ He shouts in disbelief.

The voice in his ear sighs and Jeno can see the faint wrinkles from stress between his brows as if he’s right in front of the man. The images disappear and Jeno’s glasses return to normal.

_“At this point, anything is possible when it comes to GH0ST. You know that by now, Jen. That fucker has an endless amount of tricks up his sleeve and it’s really starting to piss the big boss off. I’ll call Yukhei down and assemble the team to discuss it in about thirty minutes, so be back here by then. I wanna get started on the damn paperwork before lunch. God, I can’t believe I let this shit slip through my hands. Now I’m gonna be stuck at my desk until New Year’s.”_

Jeno can’t help but smile to himself at the tirade in his ear.

“It’s not your fault, Jun. You know no one is going to blame you for this. You weren’t even out in the field at that time.”

Another sigh rings through his ear. Jeno pulls his handgun out from his belt and extracts the magazine. He watches as the row of silver bullets glint in the small ray of sunlight trickling down through the brick buildings surrounding him. Jeno has always preferred his long distance weapons and his daggers, the juxtaposition of his weapons of choice always giving him that mysterious, unpredictable aura. The handgun is small—extremely small compared to his beloved sniper rifle, all black and green and slim and customized just the way he likes it—and built specifically for his hands, but the weight of it still provides a reassuring comfort. Along the sides and the grip of the gun, a thin neon green reflective material catches the light. The color is one Jeno has grown to love, it is the color of his unit after all. The red bird is engraved just below his name on the magazine. He absentmindedly continues to extract and insert the magazine as Renjun continues on.

_“Still. I’m responsible for logging every mission and every death that goes down in our unit. It just doesn’t make sense. There’s no way I logged his death without confirming it first. There’s just no way—”_

“Babe, everyone makes mistakes—even you. Plus, it was over two years ago. No one remembers what exactly went down and no one remembers how thoroughly the mission was logged. Maybe the dude’s immortal or some shit, I don’t know.”

_“Yeah, but I remember it all. I remember every detail of every mission and it just isn’t like me to make a mistake this severe. And what did I tell you about pet names during work hours?!”_

Jeno laughs at how utterly appalled Renjun sounds. He hears another crunch in his ear and waits for Renjun to swallow the mouthful before responding.

“That’s not fair,” Jeno makes the pout on his face evident through his voice. “Technically, we’re always working.”

_“Don’t fuckin’ remind me. Whatever, we’ll discuss it all together during the meeting. Yukhei just texted me, he says he’s on his way to my office now. Hurry up and get here, because if you’re late, I’ll kill you.”_

Jeno smiles again.

“Of course, darling.” Jeno hops on his motorcycle and pulls his helmet over his head. He kicks the kickstand up and the bike hums to life. “I’ll be there in five, sweetheart.”

Renjun grumbles a bit at the affectionate name. _“You are insufferable, you know that?”_

Jeno rides out of the alley and onto the open streets.

“Mhmm, whatever you say. See you in a bit, love you!”

_“Yep. Bye.”_

Jeno hears the call disconnect. He stops at a red light and taps his earpiece again. Renjun answers immediately. That is his job, afterall.

_“What?”_

“You didn’t say it back,” Jeno says cloyingly. 

_“Are you fucking serious right now? Jeno, I’m trying to walk Jisung through a virus simulation. The little shithead keeps walking right into the cybernet traps.”_

“And? What does that have to do with me? It’s not my fault you train your rookies poorly.” Jeno tries to keep the mirth out of his voice. Renjun is silent on the other end (save for his mindless chewing), only half listening to Jeno’s teasing.

“Say it back.” The light turns green and Jeno rounds a corner before speeding up. 

_“Oh my god, Jisung, how many times do I have to tell you the proper coding! The entire system would’ve gotten hacked just now if this were real. Love you too—No, what the fuck, not you. Focus on what you’re doing and mind your business or I’ll kill you!”_

Jeno chortles loudly just as he turns into an underground garage.

_“Alright, I said it. Now get off my comms, you’re blocking the channel for anyone else that might actually be dying out in the field right now. Your tracker says you’re here, so I’ll see you in like a minute. Bye.”_

The call disconnects and Jeno pulls his earpiece out with a smirk. He parks his bike and carries his helmet beneath his arm. He puts in all the required information for their triple security system and scans his badge, tapping his foot as he waits for the industrial elevator to reach the ground floor.

⊹

Donghyuck huffs a lock of hair out of his eyes, chin propped up on one hand and the other twirling a pen in his fingers. He was right—he was scheduled for a session today, and an extremely _long one_ at that. He barely made it in time.

He leans back in his chair and tucks his hair back beneath his hood. The voice of Suho, one of the idols he’s been scheduled for today, blasts through the large headphones over his ears. A few of Suho’s band members are mumbling on the couches behind him, and he holds up a finger to silence them as he presses the intercom button to speak. “Could you repeat that last part?” Donghyuck sings the lyrics in question. “Mhm, that one. I think you’re rushing the last word.”

“Sure thing!” Suho replies through his microphone. Donghyuck smiles.

Suho repeats the lines and glances at Donghyuck, the producer nodding in approval. “Perfect.” Donghyuck clicks a few buttons on his screen and rearranges the recorded audio. “Okay, you’re good. Thank you.” 

Suho bows a few times, each one followed by a thank you. Suho and a cameraman walk out of the booth, Donghyuck subconsciously adjusting the mask on his face when he notices. He’s gotten used to the fact that more than half of the people he works with are idols, and with idol life comes the complete invasion of their privacy. Donghyuck does not envy them.

“Baekhyun,” Donghyuck glances back at a pink-haired man curled up on the couch, eyes glued to a screen. “You’re up.”

The cameraman follows him as the idol stands and walks into the both. It registers to Donghyuck that his voice is going to be heard by hundreds of thousands of people. This causes a dull ache to creep up and rest at the nape of his neck. _It comes with the job,_ Donghyuck has to remind himself.

Baekhyun begins to situate himself inside the booth and flips through his notebook. In the few minutes before actual recording begins, Donghyuck takes the opportunity to pull out his phone and ask Jeno something he forgot to ask amid the flurry of this morning.

>   
>  _**You** _  
>  _**10:47am** _
> 
> _hey jen, i forgot to ask u this morning_  
>  _would u like to grab some lunch with me this afternoon?_  
>  _u can say no ofc, i know you have a busy work schedule, just figured we could catch up._  
>  _no pressure lol :)_  
> 

“Donghyuck-ah,” Baekhyun calls from the booth. Donghyuck places his phone face down on the desk and returns his attention to his work. Donghyuck nods when Baekhyun holds a thumb up to ask _‘ready?’_ and the man begins to sing his verse. Donghyuck busies himself with the buttons in front of him, ordering out commands and suggestions when necessary. It’s easy to distract himself from the situation that occurred last week and this morning when he’s busy doing something he truly loves. He loses himself to the beats and the rhythms he’s creating along to Baekhyun’s voice, until he almost feels okay. He almost feels happy.

Nearly an hour later, the idols are satisfied and all of Donghyuck’s scheduled sessions before lunch are complete. He stands to bow to the group of men, and once the door to his studio is shut, he flops down into his chair. His arms raise above his head and he spreads his legs out straight in front of him. He groans as his bones crack and his muscles stretch.

Hopefully Jeno has responded by now, and hopefully it’s an answer Donghyuck wants to hear. He grabs his phone from the desk and the screen lights up with an unanswered message.

>   
>  _**Jeno** _  
>  _**11:02am** _
> 
> _Duckie! I would love to get lunch with you today. Fortunately, today is my day off~! Just text me what time you would like me to pick you up :)_  
> 

>   
>  _**You** _  
>  _**11:44am** _
> 
> _oh, great!_  
>  _how does noon sound?_
> 
>   
>  _**From: Jeno** _  
>  _Sounds perfect. I will see you soon._  
> 

Donghyuck stands from his chair and heads to the lounge to grab some coffee before he has to meet with Jeno. Just as Donghyuck opens the door to the lounge, a larger man crashes into him and a splash of brown flashes before his eyes before the warm liquid finds its target. Mark hisses loudly.

“Shit, I’m so sorry!” Donghyuck quickly scurries over to grab some napkins. Mark is flicking the coffee off his fingertips and staring down at his soaked shirt with frustration. “Are you hurt?” Donghyuck begins to dab at the rapidly cooling stain on Mark’s left bicep and chest in a futile attempt to remove the stain. He doesn’t even consider their currently fragile relationship, too flustered to think of anything except the stain.

“I’m fine, Donghyuck. Just stop,” Mark huffs out, trying to move away from Donghyuck’s frantic hands. Donghyuck continues to pat and rub at the shirt which is now see-through from the moisture. Mark’s left nipple is on full display for the entire floor to see, and if his reddening cheeks and furrowed brows are anything to go by, he is _pissed_.

“Stop,” Mark grits through his teeth when Donghyuck presses especially hard on the cold fabric clinging to his chest. A small crowd of employees have gathered near the doorway and are watching with concealed amusement, much to the dismay and embarrassment of Mark. Donghyuck continues to soak up the coffee as he mumbles little apologies, but they’re so quiet it sounds like he’s speaking to himself rather than Mark.

“I have a jacket in my studio, I’ll go grab it for you—”

“I said stop!” Mark yanks Donghyuck’s wrist away from his body and clearly regrets the outburst not even a millisecond later, because his voice softens by octaves. Donghyuck is staring up at him with wide eyes, mouth parted in shock. The employees that gathered begin to whisper among themselves and disperse back to their cubicles and offices once they realize that this issue is much deeper than just a cup of spilled coffee.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you like that. I have another shirt in the dance room, don’t worry about it.”

Donghyuck’s mouth closes and he nods once. He tosses the wet napkins in the trash can and turns to the counter when Mark calls out to him again.

“Donghyuck?”

“Yes?”

Mark’s mouth opens and closes like a fish, seemingly building up the courage to say whatever is on his mind. Donghyuck waits patiently.

“Nevermind, I forgot.” He didn’t forget. Donghyuck knows that.

“Alright.” Donghyuck chooses to say instead, and that’s the end of their tense conversation. Donghyuck makes a mental reminder to clear things up and apologize soon (again, he’s not really sure what for) because he’s really getting sick of this. But for now, he has other things to worry about.

Just as Donghyuck finishes capping his cup of coffee, his phone vibrates. He pulls it out and smiles when he reads Jeno’s text telling him that he has arrived at the company. Donghyuck quickly tosses his trash and returns back to his studio to grab his coat and bag. He bids a farewell to a few of the other producers working on this floor and makes his way to the elevator.

When the elevator doors reopen and Donghyuck emerges onto the ground floor, a small giggle bubbles within his chest. Jeno is leaning against his motorcycle on the curb, clearly uncomfortable. A group of women passing by stop to flirt and giggle at him, a couple of employees going on lunch break widen their eyes, and even a few of the photographers that camp outside the building have their cameras trained on him, understandably mistaking Jeno for an idol.

Donghyuck watches him through the floor to ceiling glass windows, an amused smile on his face when Jeno shifts awkwardly and scratches at the back of his neck. He readjusts his leather jacket and begins to play with the dog tags hanging down to the center of his chest. When the third woman in the past five minutes approaches Jeno and is clearly trying to shoot her shot, Donghyuck decides it's time to spare his poor, socially-awkward friend.

⊹

_“I swear to fucking god, if another person walks up to you and asks you for your number, I’m sending Yukhei over there to pummel them into the ground,”_ Renjun snaps in his ear and ends his sentence with a loud crunch. Despite his menacing tone and _very serious_ threat, Jeno can’t help but find the jealousy comforting, assuring, and just downright _adorable_.

“Easy there, tiger,” Jeno mumbles with the side of his mouth, doing his best to make it look like he isn’t speaking at all. He doesn’t want to alarm anybody by suddenly speaking into what appears to be thin air.

_“Ugh, can’t you just tell them all to fuck off? That’s what I would do.”_ The crinkling snack bag directly in his ear is too loud, and he can tell Renjun is doing it on purpose.

Jeno flips open the seat of his bike and grabs his mask, quickly putting it on to minimize the suspicion.

“I know that’s what you would do. But we both know I’m the tame one between us. I’m fine, Jun. Just calm down.”

_“You’re not fucking fine, Jeno. I can see that your heart rate is elevated and your sweat levels have increased, and it’s cold as shit outside. You’re anxious. So no, I won't calm down when my boyfriend is clearly uncomfortable.”_

Jeno can’t argue with that. He _is_ anxious and uncomfortable with all of these eyes on him. He’s used to lurking in the shadows, working in the darkness, blending in and being as _ordinary_ as possible. He _hates_ when the attention is on him, hence why he’s so damn good at his job.

_“You’d think people in Seoul would be used to seeing a man with a motorcycle, dressed in all black clothes that accentuate his nearly perfect body, used to seeing a man a bit taller than the average and a hell of a lot more attractive than the rest,”_ Renjun huffs in his ear, exasperated. His lips smack loudly as he chews.

The tips of Jeno’s ears bloom a rosy red.

_“What the hell? Your heart rate is skyrocketing! Is there another bitch approaching you?”_ Renjun shouts unknowingly. Sometimes, Jeno forgets that Renjun can read every vital sign and red flag that goes off in his body.

“I see Donghyuck, I’ll talk to you later.”

_“Jeno, are you just saying that because you don't want me to keep scolding you? Why did your pulse increase like that? Is something happening?”_

Renjun is concerned. Oops, Jeno didn’t mean to do that. It’s not Jeno’s fault his boyfriend can still make him flustered with the most bare minimum of words. But he’s a man, he still has some pride, sue him!

“I’m serious, I’m staring at him right now. Check the security camera to the left of the entrance if you’re so unsure. Now stop talking to me, you’ll distract me.”

Renjun doesn’t respond after that. Jeno removes his mask and straightens up when Donghyuck walks outside. The smile plastered on Jeno’s face is genuine and the discomfort and anxiety of being in the spotlight dissolves the minute his friend is in his personal space. Donghyuck leans in for a hug, his warm woody and almost spicy scent engulfing Jeno’s cold body. He hears a few disappointed grumbles and watches as more employees widen their eyes in shock at the two hugging men, as if they’ve never seen friends hold each other before!

They stay like that, standing on the curbside in each other’s arms, for a few moments longer than would be considered normal between friends. But Jeno and Donghyuck work that way. From the moment they met, Jeno had deemed him a lifelong friend, part of a family he was never blessed enough to grow up with, but just as important to him. Donghyuck is warm. He very much resembles a campfire now that Jeno thinks about it—scent and all.

Jeno missed Donghyuck terribly. Missed his hugs and his fiery smile. But when he finally got to hold Donghyuck in his arms that night after what felt like an eternity, he knew something had changed, something was wrong. The fire Jeno longed and ached to see has long been stomped on, reduced to smoldering embers that still have the power to start a forest fire, but will never have the firewood, the lighter fluid, the warm puff of air, to burn as brightly as it once did.

_Not yet,_ Jeno has to remind himself. _Not yet._

“Where would’ya like to go?” Donghyuck pulls Jeno out of his thoughts. He grabs the spare helmet and sits down, staring at Jeno expectantly with a serene smile on his face.

“I know a place,” Jeno replies and pulls his own helmet over his head. He hops onto the bike and kicks the kickstand up, reminding Donghyuck to hold on tight. Donghyuck’s arms snake around his waist and he feels the weight of Donghyuck’s head resting against his back. People clear out of the way and they ride off into the busy streets.

Jeno feels Donghyuck slowly unwrap his arms, and before Jeno has a chance to ask questions, Donghyuck is raising his hands in the air and crying out as wind roars past them. Jeno laughs heartily and continues to speed down the highway, icy air clawing at every inch of exposed skin. His fingertips (the only part not covered by his leather gloves) grow numb as he races across the bridge. Donghyuck is shouting joyfully behind him, arms now outstretched at his sides as if he’s trying to reach out to the water below them. It’s the most freeing moment either of them have had in a long time.

⊹

Jeno slows down as he turns a corner, Donghyuck’s arms hurriedly gripping onto his waist so he doesn’t fall. As they enter the more pedestrian-littered streets, Jeno slows to a reasonable speed. Donghyuck untangles himself from Jeno and sits comfortably behind him, fingertips tracing the large embroidered patch on the back of Jeno’s jacket. He traces the bird’s—that _damn_ bird—outstretched wing, admiring the geometric design. Donghyuck gets lost in the red thread, almost mesmerized by each feather that protrudes from it's large body. Whatever it symbolizes, Donghyuck can tell it’s sacred and empowering, seeing as how Jeno and Yuta ( and in the past, Jaemin) never go anywhere without some form of this symbol on their body—whether it be the size of a golf ball or the size of a basketball, it’s always _there_.

Donghyuck wants to ask about it. He wants to get some answers, thinks that maybe he’s allowed to ask, that he’s earned the right seeing as that he can’t ask his late fiancé.

But he doesn’t. He won’t burden Jeno with any of his unnecessary prying.

Jeno parks the bike outside of what looks like a fried chicken place. Upon further examination, Donghyuck realizes this is where he first met Jeno all those years ago. It was only about a week after Donghyuck and Jaemin had made it official that Jaemin begged him to meet his best friend. It was a simple gathering; names and stories were exchanged over a tasty meal, and that was that. Past Donghyuck never realized just how important the man currently helping him off the bike would become. Aside from Mark, Jeno was, and still is, Donghyuck’s closest friend. He’s family.

“I would have taken you to a nicer place, but I am afraid I did not make any reservations, and I figured we would be too underdressed,” Jeno explains while pulling off his helmet, fixing some stray pieces of hair and readjusting his nose ring.

“This is perfect,” Donghyuck reassures. “I was in the mood for some fried chicken and beer anyways.”

They walk into the restaurant and bow to the woman behind the counter before finding a table. The process of ordering only takes about five minutes, both boys being regulars here and knowing exactly what they like.

“What will you be doing tonight?” Jeno asks as they make their way back to the table. Donghyuck cocks his head in confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“It has been a year,” Jeno continues gently in the way a person approaches a frightened puppy.

“Oh. Oh yeah.” Donghyuck almost forgot, with how busy he’s been since he left the metro station and everything.

“My apologies for prying. We do not have to talk about it.” If anyone is going to be okay with getting zero answers and ending a conversation before it’s even started, it’s Jeno. That’s why they make such a great pair.

“No, it’s alright. Honestly? I don't really have any plans...I’m probably just gonna try and get off early, stay home, eat some ramyeon.” _And get blackout drunk…_ Donghyuck keeps that part to himself.

Jeno nods once. He doesn’t look saddened by today’s date at all, which would come off as a shock considering how close he was with Jaemin, but Jeno has always concealed his feelings in a way Donghyuck wishes he could. 

And now that Donghyuck thinks about it, Yuta was the same way that night Donghyuck happened to bump into him. He doesn’t remember Yuta being as emotionally secure as Jeno, but maybe things have changed since Jaemin’s death.

Jeno stands from the table. “Our order is ready.”

He returns a few seconds later with a tray of drinks and fried chicken. They both dig in immediately, Donghyuck a lot more hungry than he realized. He opens the can of beer and the bottle of soju, and makes a show of combining them. It gets Jeno to laugh, which is a much harder task than one might think.

“I am glad to see your strange drink combination has not changed after all these years.”

Donghyuck chugs the first glass of his beer-soju concoction.

“Well your alcohol tolerance has changed, I suppose. That is good, I think.” Jeno smiles. Donghyuck pours him a glass of beer but holds off on the soju. He’s never really cared for soju. Jeno brings the glass to his lips and takes a few sips. He raises the glass and quirks his eyebrow in satisfied approval. The two continue to eat and drink and catch up on everything they missed.

“So where did you say your company sent you again?” 

Jeno chokes on his sip of beer, taking a few seconds to recompose himself. _That’s very unlike him…_

“Shanghai. It was a six month project,” Jeno responds monotonous, almost rehearsed. Donghyuck nods in remembrance. 

“What did you do while in Shanghai?” Donghyuck continues. He doesn’t miss the way Jeno’s Adam’s apple bobs, and he wonders what words he’s just swallowed down.

“Oh...it was just a short-term company transfer. Since I am fluent in Mandarin, they wanted to transfer someone from the China branch to the Korean branch in hopes of increasing the number of bilingual and multilingual employees within the company. But the work was just the same. Typical marketing and strategizing.”

“Why do they always send you to different countries, though? I mean, I can understand China, but didn’t they send you to Mexico a couple years ago?”

Jeno gulps again.

“They did. Our...CEO had a business trip in Mexico, and since I am one of the few employees that can speak both Korean and Spanish, they wanted me there as a translator.”

“Ah...I see. Sometimes I forget you know so many languages,” Donghyuck chuckles. “What did you say your company does again? Something that involves a lot of international communication, right?”

“That is correct. We do a lot of...a lot of—” A loud ringing interrupts their conversation, and Jeno jumps slightly. He pulls out his phone and his brows furrow. Donghyuck finds that odd.

“My apologies, Duckie. I have to take this call. It’s the...company,” he says slowly. 

“Oh! Go ahead! Go go, I’m fine.” A few more waves of encouragement and Jeno finally exits the restaurant.

Donghyuck sighs out and starts to pick at another piece of chicken. There are only a couple of people in the restaurant at this time, so Donghyuck can’t people watch as he normally would. He sips on his drink and looks up at the blaring TV screen. It’s playing a rerun of a random drama, one Donghyuck probably watched with Mark back in college. Suddenly, the drama cuts and an emergency broadcast is displayed on the screen. Everyone in the restaurant turns their attention to the screen.

_“Good afternoon, residents of Seoul. We apologize for the interruption, but we have just received a message from the president of our country and the National Intelligence Agency. We are being informed to exercise caution when going out during the evening, as the elite terrorist organization—GH0ST—has just reappeared for the first time since 2017. The government states that they are working diligently to control the recent attacks occurring in our neighborhoods, but that it is best to stay indoors once dusk hits, and to only travel in groups. Stay strong, Korea! The best way to defeat terrorism is to unite as a country and protect your fellow neighbor. That is all, thank you.”_

The news flick off and the drama resumes. Donghyuck is a bit shaken by the news, but he’s even more disturbed by the whispers he hears around him.

“The government is all a lie. They’re telling us about the attacks now, but my husband says GH0ST has been inactive since 2017! They never disappeared...they’re just telling us now before the citizens have a chance to riot…”

“Did you hear? One of the NIS’s top agents was shot today upon exiting the building...my cousin is a police officer and she said she was on duty during the attack. I think that’s why they finally decided to inform us. It’s such a tragedy, I heard he’s in critical condition.”

“Who was it?”

“I don’t know. You know how they are about keeping their identities a secret. But one of the main ones, that’s for sure.”

Donghyuck pulls out his phone to search through the news, and sure enough, it’s the top article. He scrolls through the article a bit more and discovers that it’s true—an NIS agent was shot by a member of GH0ST. According to an inside source, some agents gathered for a meeting that morning, and the infamous terrorist organization took the opportunity to announce their presence to the country through their first attack in almost two years (that the public is aware of…). Donghyuck clicks on a few of the photos and sees a man being wheeled into an ambulance. There are no photos of his face or any information on his identity. Suddenly, Jeno is back at the table, jolting Donghyuck away from his reading.

“I apologize, Donghyuck. There was an emergency at the company,” Jeno rushes out, frantically gathering his things and pulling a stack of bills out of his wallet. Donghyuck is deeply perturbed by Jeno’s frenzied...careless state. He’s never seen Jeno like this before.

“An emergency? Is everything alright?” Donghyuck places his hand atop Jeno’s trembling one. Jeno clears his throat and forces a reassuring smile, one Donghyuck does not buy.

“Yes. Everything is alright, I guess a...virus has infected half of the computers at the office. I have to get back before my files get deleted!” Jeno chuckles half-heartedly. Donghyuck doesn’t see why a computer virus would reduce Jeno to such a frantic mess, but maybe his files are very important. They must be, if he’s so distraught over it.

“Oh, well then you should get back quickly. Be careful, okay? I heard there’s been some attacks in the area.”

Jeno flinches momentarily before the smile returns.

“Yes, I will be careful. You too, please Duckie. I will text you tonight. Here is the money for the meal and a taxi back to the company. I am sorry I could not bring you back myself.” He hands him a stack of bills and before Donghyuck has a chance to reject, Jeno is grabbing his jacket and rushing out of the restaurant.

⊹

“Mr. Lee, what are you doing here?” Jaehyun asks when Donghyuck exits the elevator.

“I’m...getting off my lunch break?” Donghyuck is puzzled when Jaehyun chuckles airily, standing upright from where he was leaning over a desk.

“I figured you would’ve stayed home considering today’s date…” Jaehyun trails off, but Donghyuck doesn’t need any further explanation. He nods quietly, shifting on his feet awkwardly.

“Let us talk in my office. Mr. Hwang, I'll be back later to check on the progress of those teaser photos.” Mr. Hwang, a middle-aged man Donghyuck has only seen in passing on his way to his studio, nods once before returning his attention to the computer screen. “Ms. Kang, prepare two cups of coffee for Mr. Lee and I, will you darling?” Jaehyun turns to the poised woman standing off to the side. She nods once and struts off to the lounge.

Jaehyun leads Donghyuck down the long rows of cubicles, past the large glass windows, and into a more secluded corner of the floor. They walk past the long secretary’s desk and enter a large room that is only fit for a multi-millionaire CEO. The floor to ceiling glass wall shows a wonderful view of their city. Jaehyun walks over to lean against his oak-wood desk and gestures a hand out for Donghyuck to sit.

He takes a seat on the leather couch, staring up at Jaehyun expectantly. He’s only been inside this office a couple of times—usually Jaehyun (or in most cases, his secretary) just walks into his studio.

“Mr. Lee, I’m sending you home early today. Trust me, I am well aware of today’s date, and I was quite surprised to hear you clocked in today. May I ask why you chose to come to work?”

“Honestly, I forgot today’s date up until I was already halfway to the company. It’s been a hectic couple of weeks…” Donghyuck doesn’t elaborate further. Thankfully, Jaehyun does not prod.

“I see. Well I appreciate you coming in today regardless of your personal matters. I listened to the sample track you worked on this morning, and as always, I am very satisfied with your work. As are the boys.”

“Oh, that’s really good to hear. I’m glad they like it. It’s always a pleasure working with them.”

Jaehyun’s secretary knocks once then enters the office. Her stiletto heels click against the marble flooring and echo off the walls. She places a tray down with two cups of steaming coffee, handing one to Jaehyun with a bow. Her jet-black hair flows down her shoulders like water when she bends down to grab the second one. Donghyuck takes the cup from her hands and offers a friendly bow.

“Thank you, Seulgi,” Donghyuck mumbles, addressing her by her first name as he has become quite familiar with the gorgeous woman over his years at the company. She gives him an elegant smile in return, dark red lips curling like a cat. She bows to them both and leaves the office swiftly.

“Go ahead and get some rest. You look exhausted. I’ll reschedule the rest of your sessions for next week, and I can postpone them longer or hand them off to another producer if that is what you wish.” 

Donghyuck appreciates Jaehyun’s generosity and consideration. He really _really_ appreciates it.

“Thank you, sir. I appreciate it.” Donghyuck stands and bows deeply. Jaehyun sends him off with a wave and warm smile.

Donghyuck flops onto his bed with a huff. He still hasn’t removed his coat or bag, but he continues to lie there in silence. His eyes follow the fan blades spinning above him until his eyelids slowly flutter shut and his breathing evens out.

_Donghyuck giggles where he lies beneath Jaemin. He stares up at him through his eyelash, fluttering them demurely. It seems to have the desired effect, because Jaemin immediately dives down and begins to ravish and lap at his neck and chest. Donghyuck’s shrieking laugh fills the empty room. Just as he’s beginning to lose himself to the sensation of Jaemin’s hot tongue massaging his smooth stomach, a sharp pain erupts just below his rib cage. He feels himself buzzing and burning until he’s engulfed in a heat so great he almost faints._

_Jaemin sits up and smiles wickedly. It looks wrong on his face._

_Donghyuck cries out when he feels and hears something being removed from his stomach. Jaemin brings the dagger up to his own face and watches the way Donghyuck’s blood drips down the edge with fascination. He looks more amazed and excited than Donghyuck has ever seen him before. Donghyuck’s consciousness begins to fade and he finds himself entranced by the way his own blood stains the tip of the blade._

_He looks down and finds the sheets below him have become a crimson red. His stomach is still burning where Jaemin has left a gaping wound, but he’s more concerned about how he’s going to get the stain out of that fabric. He’ll probably have to purchase a new mattress altogether. He’s also terribly cold despite the burning deep within his body. He shivers._

_Suddenly, a loud ringing buzzes in his head. He squints at the sound, the blood loss making his brain fuzzy and slow. Jaemin is no longer hovering above him and Donghyuck is left alone in the room—naked, cold, and bleeding to death. The ringing won't stop but Donghyuck can't locate where the sound is coming from. He has the strong urge to sleep. Sleep sounds comforting, and most of all, it sounds warm._

He jolts awake and immediately clutches his stomach.

“It was just a dream,” Donghyuck pants out, chest heaving with deep breaths. He tries to keep himself calm so he can focus on something, anything other than his nightmare. He focuses on the loud ringing coming from the floor.

He looks down and finds that his phone is lit up with an incoming call. He strains to reach out and pick it up. The dream felt so _real_ , the _pain felt real_. Donghyuck takes a few more breaths to compose himself before answering. He brings the phone to his ear and squints at the shriek that greets him.

_“Haechannie! Hello darling!”_

“Hey mom,” Donghyuck replies gruffly. His throat is dry from sleep and he’s still not completely present after the nightmare. He stands on shaky knees and shuffles to the bathroom.

_“Why do you sound like that? Have you been crying?”_ His mother gasps but her voice is barely audible above the noise in the background. Donghyuck hears the unmistakable sounds of clattering coins, joyous whooping and incoherent chattering, various game jingles and bells. He sighs before bending down and taking a few gulps from his running faucet. He runs a towel down his sweaty neck and flicks off the light before responding.

“Are you at a casino?” Donghyuck avoids her questions. He ruffles through his pantry and pulls out a bag of chips, shoving a few in his mouth while he waits for his mom to pay attention to the phone call.

_“Sorry, Charlie was placing his bet!”_

“So you are at a casino. Who’s Charlie?” Donghyuck asks through a mouthful. He opens his alcohol cupboard to pour himself a drink and curses silently when he finds all of his favorites are empty. He makes a mental note to head to the store after he’s done talking to his mother so he can share his sorrows with a good bottle of whiskey. Donghyuck reaches to the back of the cupboard and pulls out an old bottle of champagne. Looks like something Jaemin would’ve drank. He shrugs—it’ll have to do for now.

_“Oh, just a new friend I made a couple nights ago! Guess how much I won today, baby! Guess!”_

Donghyuck sticks his tongue out in disgust at how mild and warm the champagne is. “I don’t know, a couple thousand?”

_“Fifteen thousand! Fifteen! Thousand!”_ She responds, emphasizing her words. Donghyuck can hear the excitement in her voice and can visualize her large, drunken smile.

“That’s great, ma.” Donghyuck looks at the time on his oven. _Woah, it’s already 5? He napped for that long…?_ “Isn’t it late where you are?”

_“Oh, it’s only one in the morning! Didn’t you know? Vegas is the city that never sleeps!”_

So she’s in Vegas this month. “America, huh? Why’d you pick Vegas?” Donghyuck settles himself on the couch, one hand holding the phone to his ear and the other swirling the boring drink around in it’s glass.

_“Your sister said it was a lovely place to visit after her honeymoon. Plus, I’ve already explored most of Asia and Europe. Oh, speaking of your sister, have you spoken to her recently?”_

“No, why?” He downs the last drops from his glass and hangs his hand off the couch lazily. Donghyuck thinks back to the last time he spoke to his sister (or any of his siblings, for that matter) and can barely remember their brief conversation. He hasn’t spoken to either of his brothers since he introduced Jaemin to his family during that one Christmas his mother was able to gather all of the Lee children together for the first time since their father’s death, and even then, he only really talked to his sister. He’s alway been closest to her, so he finds it rather upsetting that their relationship has become this distant.

_“Hm. I just like to know if my children are still keeping in contact with each other, is all. It’s unfortunate. You were all so close when you were younger.”_

“Yeah, well. We’re not kids anymore, mom. We all have our own lives to live.”

_“That’s funny. Your brothers said the same thing.”_

Donghyuck hears her say something in english before leaving whatever casino she’s at, and the deafening sounds are replaced by rumbling cars and drunk conversations from passing strangers. Donghyuck sits up on the couch and crosses his legs, picking at the fraying edges of his jeans. He can tell his mother is saddened by his words.

“I talked to Haewon a couple of months ago. She had some business with my boss, so I saw her at the company. She’s doing good—really good. I believe she’s listed as one of the top ten most successful female CEOs last time I checked. And she said her and her husband are trying to have a baby.”

He hears a sigh of relief from the other end. _“That’s good to hear. I can never get a hold of her, she’s always working herself black and blue. Maybe a baby will get her mind away from her work for a little while.”_

Donghyuck hums in agreement. _“And how are you doing?”_

Donghyuck doesn’t want to lie to her. Although she is not his birth mother, she’s the only mother he’s ever known, and he doesn’t want to lie to the woman who raised him in a loving, supportive environment. But he also doesn’t want to worry her—not when she’s traveling the world and meeting random men like Charlie and spending tons of money at casinos and just living an overall free life. She deserves the freedom of knowing her children are safe and happy. So in the end, he lies.

“I’m good. Work has been really good, I enjoy my job.”

_“Haechannie, I’m not worried about your job, I’m worried about you. I used to hear from you all the time, but now this is the first time I’m talking to you in almost a year.”_

Donghyuck’s eyes begin to sting with tears but he’s not entirely sure why he’s crying. He tilts his head back to keep his face dry.

“Yeah, I know. I’m sorry, life’s just been pretty busy, that’s all.”

_“Donghyuck-ah,”_ she calls in a tone so warm and tender Donghyuck almost breaks. Donghyuck hums in response, but it sounds more like a whimper.

_“I didn’t call you on accident. I know what day it is today._

Donghyuck flops down onto his side, holding his phone tight to his ear as he closes his eyes. His eyelashes grow heavy with his tears.

_“Did I ever tell you how I met your father?”_ Donghyuck shakes his head as if she can see him. But the silence is enough of an answer for her.

_“I remember the moment so vividly. I took my mother to the hospital where your father worked. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, but he still treated her with so much care and consideration, I couldn’t help but be intrigued. He was tall and handsome, kind to my mother and I. He was quite the charmer back in the day, Haechannie. No wonder I was smitten! But I could see something was weighing him down, something dark. I wanted to know more about him, so I asked him on a date.”_

Donghyuck chuckles quietly at his mother’s confidence.

_“On the second date, I knew I was in love. Oh, it was so easy to be with him, Hyuck. He was the greatest man I had ever met. He cared for me with so much passion and would do anything I asked of him, but he was also stubborn and knew exactly what he wanted in life. I admired that about him. I was younger and very lost at the time. He helped me grow and he helped me find myself.”_

His mother pauses. Donghyuck smiles faintly at the memory of his father.

_“On the third date, I finally decided to ask him about his past. I wanted to know what was hanging on his shoulders. I wanted to help him carry the weight. You know what he said to me?”_

“What?” Donghyuck whispers with a sniffle.

_“He said ‘Kim Soyeon, I want to be with you. I want to cherish you and love you. But my children come first. If you are not prepared to become the mother of my children, then I am sorry, but we cannot be together. I know you are young and you may not be ready to settle down, but I am well past those years. I’ve already been married once, I already have a family. I’m sorry if I am not the man you thought I was.’”_

_“I was so shocked, I had no idea what to say! I didn’t even know he had children nor an ex-wife! Of course I later found out that his wife, your mother, had died during childbirth. But I was just so touched that he trusted me enough to share that weight with me. And again, I was already so in love with him. I didn’t even think twice about how I would’ve been ‘giving up my twenties’ or whatever people were saying. I immediately asked to meet you guys. And when I asked that, I could already see his shoulders lifting. I wanted more of that.”_

“So that’s when you met me, huh?” Donghyuck curls in on himself. His heart feels warmer as his mother continues.

_“That’s when I met you. Your brother was eight and your sister about six, but you? You were barely two years old! You were loud and snotty and...I never much cared for children. But when I picked you up and held you in my arms, you placed your chubby little hands on either side of my face. I stared into your wide, chocolatey brown eyes and that’s when I knew. I knew I had to protect you. I knew I had to become that mother-figure in your life. I knew I had to raise you three, and finish the job that your mother barely had a chance to start. It only took me a second to decide, and thankfully you guys liked me,”_ she giggles.

_“And after that decision was made, everything else became easy. Your father made good on his promises. He cherished and loved me like no tomorrow. Settling down and caring for the family he’d already started was effortless, and before I knew it, your little brother was born and I became a mother of four!”_

Donghyuck hears her clear her throat. The next time she speaks, her voice is wavering and Donghyuck immediately sits up in worry.

_“When your father died, a part of me died with him. I’d lost my biggest source of happiness. And you know what, Haechan? I thought I wasn’t going to survive. The hole in my heart was so large, it almost killed me. Everything I did felt empty, and having to watch you kids go through the same thing just broke me down further. I knew that as a mother, it was my responsibility to keep our family strong. But how could I keep you guys strong when I was just one crack away from breaking?”_

The tears are like hot wax on Donghyuck’s cheeks. He can tell his mother is crying too, and he wants nothing more than to reach through the phone and hold her close. He misses her now more than ever.

_“It felt impossible. I never thought I’d feel okay again, I never thought the painful ache in my chest would ever go away. I cursed at your father, despised him for leaving me so broken and alone. But then I realized that I wasn’t alone. I had the family we created and nurtured together. I had Donghyun and Dongsun, you and Haewon. I had my children keeping me going. The pain was so earth-shattering that I never thought I would recover. But you know what, my love? I would go through all of it again if it meant I would be where I am today. I wouldn’t have traded your father’s love for anything, because without your father, without this pain I felt and still feel, I wouldn’t have you guys.”_

_“You know, my Haechannie, if you didn’t love Jaemin, this never would’ve happened.”_

Donghyuck feels sick at the thought of living in a world where he didn’t receive Jaemin’s love and a world where he didn’t give it back tenfold.

_“But you did. You loved him with all that you had, and accepting that love and everything that followed it is the first step in letting go.”_

Hearing his mother’s benevolent words breaks something in him, and the rope knotted around his tightly constrained sorrow finally comes undone. He sobs into the phone as his mother gently shushes him. It feels good to cry to her, to talk about all of his worries and pain to someone that isn’t getting _paid_ to listen (no offense to his therapist).

Donghyuck continues to cry to her and she continues to console and listen to him for the next hour and a half. When he finally lets her go, it’s well past sundown and the city is just starting to come to life in the darkness. He stands on aching knees and his chest feels significantly lighter. For the first time, crying actually made him feel better.

He grabs his wallet, keys, and coat from where he left it in the bedroom, and exits his apartment. Despite the time and the calming conversation with his mother, Donghyuck still wants to restock on his alcohol. 

_For the nightmares…_ Donghyuck convinces himself.

The warmth of the liquor shop is comforting. It’s deathly cold outside and just like this morning, Donghyuck is convinced it’s going to snow. He grabs a few bottles off the shelves, already knowing what he wants and where to find it. The man at the counter quirks a brow at his strong selection of alcohol.

“Rough night?” The man guesses. His voice is deep and gruff, Donghyuck almost wants to pour him a drink to help soothe his throat.

“You could say that,” Donghyuck chortles, grabbing the bag of bottles and mumbling a short goodbye.

If at all possible, the temperature outside has dropped even further. He can barely feel his fingertips as they curl around the thin straps of the bag. His free hand pulls his coat tighter around his body as if it’ll help keep the painful cold out. As he continues down the street, the only sound being the gentle clattering of his bottles and his sneakers against the pavement, he hears someone walk out of the alley he’s just passed. At first, Donghyuck is not the least bit concerned.

But a few turns around some corners and his heart rate is quickly spiking. He peaks behind his shoulder at the—a quick once over and he gets his answer—man trailing a few feet behind him. His head is tilted down so the black cap on his head covers his face completely. His hands are in his coat pockets as he ambles down the sidewalk.

Donghyuck stares straight ahead and slowly begins to increase his pace, not wanting to alarm the man behind him. He quickly comes to the conclusion that this man isn’t his usual follower because he can physically see him, whereas his other one, he just _feels._

His palms grow sweaty despite the bone-chilling temperature when he hears the man behind him speed up as well. The man’s heels click loudly against the cement and Donghyuck finds it really fucking _fortunate_ that no one else is walking on this street right now. He takes a deep breath and gives himself a total of three seconds to say _fuck it_ before he breaks off into a full on sprint. He turns a few corners and the clanking of his bottles is so loud he almost misses the sound of quickening footsteps behind him.

He turns down the first alleyway he sees and crouches in the darkness, listening for the man. He hears nothing, and lets out a silent breath of relief. His legs are aching from the run and his arm is beginning to cramp from holding such a heavy bag. After he catches his breath, he stands and turns on his heels.

He shrieks as he crashes into someone and is suddenly punched in the stomach. The bag drops with a devastating shatter. Firm hands wrap around his neck and he lets out a choked cry. Donghyuck tries to thrash around and throw his hands against the person choking him, but the darkness of the alleyway both conceals the man’s face and position, and adds to the overall panic of the situation. He digs his nails into the hands around his neck and hears a groan in response. Donghyuck’s ears ring when he’s thrown against the brick wall and he’s pretty sure that warm sensation he’s feeling on the back of his head is blood.

The light at the end of the alley flickers on, and he finally gets a good look at the face of his attacker. The man’s face is wrinkled and the stubble on his chin is short. His scowl is terrifying and Donghyuck feels his knees going weak in fear. On instinct, he swings his leg and lands a kick right between the man’s legs. He crumples to the floor in pain and Donghyuck takes the opportunity to run _as fast as he possibly can_.

Just as he predicted, it starts to snow. However, the timing of this season’s first snow is utterly inconvenient. He’s almost at the end of the alley when the lights blink on to reveal three men in suits blocking his exit. He stops so abruptly that his feet slip on the freshly fallen snow and he lands on his butt with a painful thump.

Before he has a chance to recover, the man from before is on top of him, but this time he’s pressing his hands into Donghyuck’s neck with purpose. He tries his best to call out and scream with all his strength, but his airways are quickly growing restricted and his head is beginning to build so much pressure, he’s fearful it’ll burst. He thrashes around and tries to throw the man off of him, but he’s stronger than Donghyuck is, and his knees are digging painfully into his sides.

The man above him pulls out a knife and holds it against Donghyuck’s throat. He gulps and his eyes begin to water in fear.

“Keep screaming and I’ll slit your throat,” he threatens. His voice is dripping with wicked mirth. The metal against his skin is cold and it creates a dull buzz, as if Donghyuck is being electrocuted.

_I’m going to die._ Donghyuck thinks. _I’m actually going to die. I always imagined what it would be like, but I never thought my mortality would be in the hands of another. I don’t like it. I don’t want to die._

Donghyuck closes his eyes and waits for the pain to overcome him. He hears a deafening bang and can only assume that he’s been shot.

A few seconds pass, but Donghyuck feels no pain. Perhaps he is already dead. Another bang, and he feels the painful weight crushing his body leave with a limp flop, along with a warm splatter across his face. He hears the sound of a knife clattering beside his ear. Slowly, he opens his eyes.

The man that was on top of him is now slumped over on the pavement beside him. A pool of blood slowly seeps out from the back of his head. It looks like a halo. Donghyuck’s hands tremble terribly as he pushes himself up to look at his (now dead) attacker. His eyes are wide and glossed over, mouth slightly ajar. 

It makes Donghyuck sick.

Before he can puke at the sight or even have a chance to recover from the traumatic event, hurried footsteps coming his way pull his attention away from the dead body. He whips his head around and his eyes go wide when he sees the three men at the end of the alley advancing. The fight isn’t over, and Donghyuck’s knees are so shaky he doubts he’ll be able to run away. He’s also cold— _unbearably cold,_ and the snowflakes gently descending from the sky are beginning to moisten his coat.

He’s about to cry out again, scream and shout and alarm anyone that might be passing by, when a hooded figure drops down from one of the buildings that forms the alleyway. From where Donghyuck is sitting on the ground, he can tell that the hooded man standing between him and the men at the alley is tall. His shoulders are broad and his figure is slim. His clothes cling to his body and create the perfect silhouette, save for the bulging pockets of his cargo pants. The man balls his fist and cracks a few knuckles.

From between his legs, Donghyuck can see the three men in front of them drawing their guns and pointing them straight ahead. Donghyuck is about to scream when the man in front of him pulls him to his feet and wraps a tight hand around his wrist, dashing down the dark alley with Donghyuck clumsily trailing behind him. He almost slips on the wet pavement.

Donghyuck yelps when the bullets are fired, ricocheting off the walls and pipes with sparks but thankfully, they never hit him. The man pulling him along continues down the alley and into the road, then yanks him into the alley across the street. The three men are quick on their heels.

Donghyuck is pulled down behind a dumpster, the hooded man caging him against the wall. He feels his hot breath against his cheek. Their heaving breaths form clouds of smoke between their bodies. Being pressed against the wall and hidden between this man’s arms, Donghyuck feels warm. There are no lights in this alley, but the full moon shines down between the buildings and illuminates the rapidly growing inches of snow beneath him like crystals. The hood effectively conceals the man’s face and Donghyuck longs to see the face of his savior.

At least, he thinks this man is saving him.

Warm lips against his ear makes him shiver violently. “Renjun sent me. If you want to live, you must trust me and do exactly as I say,” the man mutters. His voice is deep—too deep to be real. _A voice modifier…_ Donghyuck assumes.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?! What if you kill me?” Donghyuck snaps in a hushed tone. While this man did save him from whoever is following them, who’s to say he’s actually a _good guy_?

A breathy, rumbling chuckle in his ears both confuses and flusters Donghyuck.

“You don't have many options,” he replies. His head snaps to the side when shuffling footsteps and a booming voice barking commands interrupts their silence.

“When I say go, run down to the end of the alley and wait at the door there. I’ll be right behind you.”

Donghyuck quickly realizes that he really _doesn’t_ have many options. If this man is with Renjun as he stated, he has no choice but to trust him. The man’s arms fall from where they were pressed beside his head and he pulls out of his space. Donghyuck immediately misses the warmth. The beam of moonlight shining down over the roof of the building is just bright enough for him to see the hooded man crawling over to press his back against the dumpster. His head is tilted down in a way Donghyuck knows is meant to keep his face hidden by the shadows.

He pulls a gun out from his waist and holds it out by his head. He clocks his gun and the sound echoes in the darkness. Donghyuck moves to sit on his heels and tries to keep his heavy breathing as calm and silent as possible. He feels his pulse in his ears as he waits anxiously for the command.

Three seconds pass, and then “Go!”

Donghyuck launches himself from the ground and darts down the alley. The moon is much brighter (once he’s out of the shadows) than the yellow lights from before and he can clearly see where he’s running. His footsteps are light as his feet sink into the deep snow. He’s suddenly hyper aware of everything he’s feeling.

His knees ache. His body is going numb from how cold it is. His head is still pounding from where he was slammed against the wall and his neck feels raw. His anxiety has skyrocketed and he’s having trouble catching his breath both from the oncoming panic attack and from the spurts of activity. He hears a few gunshots and prays to the moon that the hurried footsteps behind him belong to the man sent by Renjun.

His prayers are answered when he hears the modified voice call out to him. “Keep going!”

Donghyuck listens. He does his best to run faster and just as he sees the silver handle of the door at the end of the alley, the man behind him yelps out. For some godforsaken reason, Donghyuck skids to a halt and turns around to check on him.

The hooded man is yanked down to the ground and punched straight in the face. He starts to wrestle with one of the shooters, throwing a few bone-cracking punches and successfully pinning his attacker to the ground before pushing the muzzle of his gun into the other man’s body and pulling the trigger without hesitation.

A bright crash of light erupts into the moonlit-darkness as he shoots the man in the stomach.

More deafening shots are fired and Donghyuck crouches to the floor with a shriek when he hears a few bullets flying past his head. He clasps his hands over his ears and tries to  
make himself as small as possible. The hooded man standing above the limp body is quick on his feet, sprinting toward the two shooters at the end of the alley and deftly dodging their bullets. Donghyuck watches in horrified amazement as his savior dives down and slides on his hip before jumping up to his feet and aiming a perfect shot at one of the men. 

With one man left standing, his hooded savior seems to grow evermore confident.

He launches off his feet and presses the sole of his boots against the side of the wall before using the momentum to land a painful kick on the last shooter’s face. They both tumble to the ground and his gun sinks into the snow. It becomes a hand-to-hand battle.

His savior is punched in the face and stomach before he regains control and throws a few punches of his own. It’s obvious who the more skilled of the two is. The opposing man climbs on top of his savior and begins to drill punches into his face before pulling out a small knife. The knife reflects a beam of light directly into Donghyuck’s eyes, and he squints away. He hears a deep groan from the hooded man as the knife is plunged into his forearm. Donghyuck cries out and immediately racks his jumbled brain for ways to help. He stands and almost falls to the ground again with how weak he’s become.

He stops in his tracks when his savior elbows the enemy in the face and throws him off. Donghyuck watches with wide eyes as the hooded man quickly jumps to his feet and kicks the assaulter while he’s down. He dives for his gun and lands with a roll before turning around and shooting the assailant in the head without delay.

Their last attacker slumps into the snow with a dull thud.

It’s quiet. The snow around Donghyuck and all the way down the alley is stained red from all the blood that’s been spilled. He can almost taste the metallic tang in the air and it makes something nasty brew in his stomach. A fierce shiver vibrates through his body.

The man standing a few feet in front of Donghyuck has his back turned to him, but he can see and hear the way his chest heaves deeply and cold smoke huffs out with each breath as his gun falls to the ground with a muted thump. Donghyuck also notices that his hood has fallen from his head. The moonlight illuminates the man’s dark brown, messy locks. He gasps quietly when he sees beads of scarlet drip down the man’s hand and into the reddening snow.

Upon noticing the shred in his jacket and the wound on his arm, the man mumbles a curse. But other than that, he seems entirely unperturbed by it. Donghyuck trudges closer, but when he turns ever so slightly,— _just enough_ for Donghyuck to see one half of his face—he freezes completely.

He can’t tell if it’s a snowflake that has fluttered it's way onto his cheek or a tear that has just frozen over, but either way, it’s _cold_ , and it only adds to the shivers coursing through his spine and freezing his blood to its core.

The man turns to face him completely. The full moon is like a spotlight and snowflakes sparkle like stars as they fall around him.

Suddenly, so suddenly Donghyuck almost faints from the force of it, a fire Donghyuck believed had long been reduced to ashes burns _so_ brightly inside him he sees red.

Tears blur his vision completely and finally fall to mix with the splatters of blood on his cheeks. He has trouble seeing the face of the man that visits him in his dreams and nightmares every night with how thick his tears are coming. His heart is clenching so painfully in his chest that it keeps him from calling out or making any noise at all.

_This can’t be real. It’s a nightmare. Or maybe...it’s a dream?_

Donghyuck would’ve believed himself too, if it weren’t for his complete awareness of the fatigue in his bones and burning in his chest and the warmth of fresh tears spilling out from his burning eyes. The man standing before him is silent, which only confirms Donghyuck’s suspicions further.

Never in a million years did Donghyuck think this moment would come true. Never in a million years did Donghyuck think his three-hundred and sixty-five futile prayers would be answered. Never in a million years did Donghyuck think he would find him again. If his mind is playing a cruel trick on him and the throbbing in his head is making him hallucinate, he’ll spend the rest of his life cursing out the universe.

It takes a few minutes of deafening, cold silence before Donghyuck finds his voice again. The blood rushing in his ears and his heartbeat reverberating off the walls of his skull is too _loud_. He can barely focus. His lips are chapped and his throat is dry, but he’s _finally_ able to say something.

“J-Jaemin?”

Donghyuck’s voice echoes off the walls. It’s too loud and it disturbs the serene quiet surrounding them.

“Duckie.”

His smile makes Donghyuck crumple to the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: a flashback of the night it all went wrong...


	5. Chapter Four - Living a Lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **This chapter will be exploring multiple points of view! A page break will signify a change in POV.**
> 
> TW for this chapter: mentions of death, blood & violence, weapon usage, heavy injuries, mild/implied sexual content

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sincerely apologize for such a long break in chapters. These past few months have been incredibly difficult for me, and I've been struggling trying to juggle school, work, and a lot of personal/family issues. Hopefully I can follow a more consistent schedule during these oncoming months. I appreciate your patience from the bottom of my heart!
> 
> Now enough from me, onto the NaHyuck angst! ♡
> 
> ['Living a Lie' playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6LkQBGk2s4ofh9aSEYOtIB?si=r7o-SqQoRYKLVCBmvIMPxA)

**ONE YEAR AGO...**

Jaemin’s eyes sting as the harsh winter air rushes past him. Despite the bone-chilling temperature, he keeps his window rolled down as he speeds off to the location displayed on his GPS system. He hopes the wind will dry the tears he forced back in hopes of reassuring his fiancé. Unfortunately, a few tears still manage to escape. He wipes at them aggressively, leaving red splotches across his cold cheek.

_“I’m sorry, Jaemin,”_ Renjun mumbles in his earpiece. It startles him slightly.

“What for?” Jaemin stops at a red light and pulls the map on his screen out in front of him so he can manipulate the hologram to assure he’s taking the correct route. He must be hasty. He’s about to complete his biggest mission yet.

_“You know I wouldn't have called you in tonight if it was any other case. I didn’t want to, but it was the boss's orders. You and your brother have had the most contact with the bastard, you’re critical to the success of this mission.”_

“Renjun, I know. You don’t have to apologize, nor do you owe me an explanation for your decision. You’ve never done things on impulse. We’ve been after them for over a year, this is my job. I wouldn’t miss it.”

Renjun sighs sympathetically. Jaemin can tell he is speaking to him as his friend and not as a fellow agent.

“Hyuck is gonna be really pissed at me this time.” Jaemin chuckles to lighten the mood. It does little to alleviate not only the ache in his chest, but also the severe anxiety and anticipation slowly crawling up his veins in the form of adrenaline. 

_“You guys have been through worse. Hell, you missed Christmas back in 2016. Even Jeno could tell you were in for a real ass whooping. If all goes well, as I know it will, you’ll be back by sunrise. Just in time for your ceremony. We’ve gone over this plan countless times, it was only a matter of getting GH0STFAC3 to take the bait.”_

Jaemin hums in acknowledgment. He shuts off his headlights as he turns into a parking lot across the street of an abandoned warehouse. It’s the exact warehouse he and his team have studied for the past month and a half. He knows every entry and exit point, every back alley, and road within a fifteen-mile radius of the place. He knows this place like the back of his hand. He was trained for it.

When Renjun speaks, his voice regains it’s serious and blunt edge. He is no longer Jaemin’s friend, he is Jaemin’s direct partner, head of the cybersecurity, communication and intelligence division, and most importantly: his eyes, ears, and everything in between. His lifeline, to put it simply.

_“I just sent you the blueprints of the warehouse. I know we’ve gone over the plan a thousand times, but per protocol, I’m going over it again. You’ll enter from the back window,”_ Jaemin swipes past the map previously displayed in the center of his car and now examines the 3-dimensional blueprints of the warehouse waiting for him just across the road. It zooms into the chosen window, a sign Renjun is controlling it from his end. _“The drop is about seven feet, nothing you can’t handle. Exactly two minutes after you enter, the rest of the team will pull up to the warehouse. Agents will be surrounding the entire perimeter because we know damn well GH0STFAC3 is not showing up alone, and then a team of ten agents—led by Jeno and your brother—will enter exactly three minutes after you climb through that window. Understood?”_

“Understood,” Jaemin affirms. The blueprints dissolve into thin air along with the harsh blue light that emitted off of them, leaving Jaemin in the darkness of his car. He presses a button and a soft yellow light illuminates the car just enough for Jaemin to see what he’s doing. He unzips the bag placed on the passenger seat and gathers his equipment.

The machine pistol he pulls out does wonders for quelling his pre-mission anxiety. The weight of the gun—his favorite, personalized gun—is so familiar to him it feels like an extension of his hand. It’s slim and light, the grip molded to his hands and his alone. A few strips of neon reflective tape decorate the sides, and the magazine has both his name and the symbol of his unit (a hawk) engraved on the bottom. He secures the gray knee pads around his knees, knocking on the hard surface a few times for good luck. He swiftly pulls his cotton shirt over his head and replaces it with a skin-tight, spandex-y type turtleneck. He tucks the extra material at his hips into his thick (but not the least bit restricting) cargo pants then tightens his utility belt and dagger sheaths, his personalized blades slipping into the sheaths with a satisfying metallic scrape. The green leg holster comes next, along with the sleek handgun that fills it.

_“I altered the material of the shirt to make it more flexible and breathable,”_ Renjun comments and Jaemin continues to fill his pockets and belt with ammunition and other various items: daggers of all shapes and sizes, a miniature taser, a small flashlight, matches…

His brother always scolds him for being _too prepared_. While Jaemin is an overpacker, Yuta is the complete opposite. One time, he’d even forgotten his own handcuffs on a mission, which earned him a major scolding from the big boss—rightfully so. He’d showed up at the agency shirtless, dragging an unconscious criminal behind him, bound by the thin cotton material of his own shirt.

“It feels good,” Jaemin responds as he laces up his boots (with neon green soles, of course) and triple knots them. He pulls on his sweat-absorbing fingerless gloves then pulls out his dog tags from a smaller pocket of his bag. They jingle slightly as they make contact with the layered crosses hanging around his neck. He takes extra care in strapping up the bulletproof vest that has been _perfected_ by Renjun. He tucks in a few extra weapons in secret places, then pulls on his final piece of clothing. His arms slide against the cool leather of his jacket with a calming familiarity.

Jaemin pulls down the sun visor of the passenger seat and checks his reflection in the small mirror. Jaemin will admit, he feels good like this. It took him a while to adjust to the weight of everything on him: the stiffness of the vest, the tightness of the boots around his feet running all the way up to the middle of his calves. But his field attire has become a second skin to him, a sense of security and assurance.

Assurance that he’s been rigorously trained for this, given the privilege of wearing such expensive, top-secret tech.

Assurance that he has the vast knowledge of using every weapon strapped to his body—down to the most hidden pocket knife—with refined skill.

The corner of a photo peeks out from the small sleeve of the visor. Jaemin pulls it out with utmost care.

It’s his favorite photo of him and Donghyuck, a selfie taken in the middle of an ice rink. It’s slightly blurry, but the pure joy and affection on their faces is loud and clear. Jaemin feels his eyes water. He brushes his fingertip over Donghyuck’s face, wishes he could feel the smoothness and warmth of his skin. He shuts his eyes in a small prayer, free hand coming up to rest atop the center of his vest, which rests atop his crosses.

When his eyes reopen, his pupils have shrunken to pinpricks. The deep brown of his irises now shine a golden caramel in the moonlight cascading through his window. He tucks the photo back into the visor and flips it up, and that’s the last he thinks of the man sleeping soundly in bed back home. He takes a few deep breaths while mentally recalling every little detail of the plan, readjusts the earpiece tucked into his ear, grabs his gun, and slips out of the car with deft silence.

He’s light on his feet as he sprints across the wide road and kneels in the tall bushes lining the outside of the warehouse. He hears voices and sees a few beams of light.

GH0ST agents patrol the perimeter. A small group of them are standing below the window Jaemin must enter. They’re swaying and pacing back and forth, having relaxed conversations as they lazily grip their guns across their chests. One of them has a cigarette between his teeth.

Jaemin quickly assesses the situation and rolls out of the bushes, using the shadows and the cover of night to his advantage. Only that small group guard the back of the warehouse, much to Jaemin’s relief. He lets his gun hang from it’s strap around his shoulder as he opts for a quieter weapon—a pair of long daggers. The edge of the black blades are dipped in a green carbon fiber material and curl upward at the tip. The black handles curl around his wrists.

Jaemin rolls through the shadows and comes behind one of the men, covering his mouth to muffle his alarmed shout, and quickly slices his throat. The man’s partners barely have time to register Jaemin’s presence before he’s successfully slicing a few more and kicking the remaining ones to the ground. He wrestles with one of the bigger men, lands a couple of punches, then sinks his blade into his chest. A woman begins to run away, presumably to warn the others, but Jaemin is quicker. He throws one of his smaller knives and it sinks into her back with a wet squelch. She crumples to the floor.

Jaemin stands and wipes the splatter of blood on his cheek with the back of his hand. He’s always preferred close and hand to hand combat as well as blade usage, much like his older brother. Although his marksmanship is ranked among one of the highest in his unit, there’s just something about beating a criminal down with your bare fists or a small weapon such as a dagger that feels infinitely more rewarding.

He huffs a stray lock of hair out of his eyes and takes a second to glance in all directions, double checking no one was alerted of his presence. His hand wraps tightly around the handle of his dagger as he pulls it out of the man's chest with a harsh tug. Then, he walks over to the woman lying face first into the ground and removes the knife from between her shoulder blades. His face remains indifferent as he wipes the bloody blades on his pant leg. He returns his daggers to their sheaths at his hips and the knife to his belt, and walks back to the window.

He takes a deep breath before bending down and launching himself off the ground. His fingers wrap around the edge of the open window and he pulls himself up with ease. He peers down into the warehouse, surprised to see no one inside. When going over the plan, they’d all accounted for the fact that _someone_ would be inside, even if it wasn't the boss. But from what Jaemin can see, the warehouse is completely empty. Not even boxes or tables or literally _anything at all_ occupy the vast space.

Jaemin hoists himself all the way up and through the window, turning around and dropping down, his boots landing on the cement with a dull thud much too loud for the eerie silence of the space.

He crouches in the shadow of the corner, scanning the large room. His brows furrow slightly. There’s nothing, and no one. His increasing heartbeat is too loud in his ears. The silence is disturbing and it makes Jaemin’s skin crawl with something nasty. This isn’t right.

“There’s nothing here,” Jaemin mumbles to himself, standing straight and cautiously making his way into the center of the warehouse. The moonlight shines brightly through the windows that line the top of the building. Jaemin can see the dust that floats in the air, can almost taste the bitterness of gun metal and cigarette smoke. Out of cautious habit, his fingers tighten on the grip of his gun.

_“What do you mean?”_ Renjun asks, uncharacteristically puzzled.

“I mean, _there’s nothing here_. It’s completely empty. The outside is crawling with GH0ST agents, but no one is inside. It’s just an empty warehouse.”

_“You have to be missing something. There’s no way GH0STFAC3 would deploy his men there for no reason. Agents will be at your location in 90 seconds,”_ Renjun responds. At least Jaemin knows his team is on the way. His hairs are still standing on edge and he just can’t shake the feeling that...something is supposed to happen.

As if his thoughts are being manifested, loud scraping sounds fill the silence. A few more heavy bangs and thuds and then—nothing. Jaemin’s breath quickens and it condenses before him in the drafty air. He jogs over to the main door of the warehouse and _pushes_ , but the door doesn’t budge. He runs over to the back door and tries the handle, but it feels jammed. He looks up at the open window he entered through, and his eyes widen to find that it’s been closed off. Suddenly, every window in the warehouse is shielded by something heavy one-by-one, the moonlight slowly fading with each covered window.

Jaemin’s blood rushes in his ears as he’s surrounded by complete darkness.

“Renjun, what’s going?” Jaemin questions frantically. His hands scramble across his body as he searches for a flashlight—a difficult task considering the pitch black room.

_“I don’t—There’s—blocking—lost—location—sending—team—I can’t—!”_ Renjun’s glitched, increasingly worried voice shouts into his ear. Jaemin can’t understand any of it, and now that he has no communication with his lifeline, his anxiety and adrenaline is skyrocketing. His comms are jammed and he has zero knowledge of what’s going on outside. He strains to hear if his team has infiltrated the perimeter of the warehouse, but whatever is blocking the windows and doors seems to be muffling sound.

Suddenly, four blank screens pop up in the middle of the warehouse, directly in front of Jaemin. It provides him with enough light to look around, and his heart drops when he sees a tall figure lurking in the shadows. Immediately, he raises his gun and points it straight at the figure. He watches as the man raises his right hand in surrender and steps out of the shadows. The wicked grin on his face makes Jaemin nauseous.

He’s tall and slim and wears a deep scarlet suit. His black undershirt has a few buttons undone and Jaemin can see that his neck is covered in tattoos varying from different faces and symbols, to words written in English and Mandarin. But what stands out most to Jaemin is his arm. From this distance, it looks like the man’s entire left arm is crippled, judging by the way it hangs pathetically by his side. It’s shrunken into its socket and the sleeve of his red suit jacket hangs off his shoulder. Jaemin knows this man, has read over his significant case file countless times, has heard the rumors and the stories of a mission gone horribly wrong nearly four years ago.

This is Dong Sicheng. This is GH0STFAC3, the man Jaemin has been after for over a year.

_“Jaemin—! Not safe—! —trap! —Get out—!”_ Renjun shouts into his ear, but the information comes out broken and distorted. A loud ringing follows Renjun’s final exclamation and it momentarily distracts Jaemin, his hand quickly darting up to his ear to pull the earpiece out and stop the ear-shattering noise. In his brief seconds of distraction, the man has now closed the distance between them. Jaemin reacts quickly, bringing the muzzle of his gun up to press directly into the man’s forehead.

Sicheng’s impish cackle echoes off the industrial walls.

“Do it. Pull the trigger, pull it, pull it, pull it,” He whispers excitedly in rapid succession, hoarse whisper finishing off with a sadistic giggle. He presses his head into the gun, that disturbing smile never leaving his face. Jaemin’s finger hovers over the trigger and his Adam's apple bobs as he gulps.

“You can't!” Sicheng chortles. “You and your little rats need me alive.”

“Don’t test me. It doesn’t matter to me whether I take you in wearing handcuffs or I drag your dead body there myself. Just means some extra paperwork,” Jaemin spits, taking a step forward and smirking to himself when the man before him takes a step back.

“It matters to Agent Nakamoto,” Sicheng answers with a venomous tone. His eyes glint with something evil and knowing. Jaemin _hates_ it. What the hell is this bastard talking about? Why would his brother give two shits about this murderer? If everything else is going according to plan, his brother should be outside slicing his way through Sicheng’s men.

“So you don’t know?” Sicheng gasps in mock surprise when he sees the brief confusion flash across Jaemin’s face. “Have you not heard the rumors about me? The stories?” His right hand makes a jazz hand.

_He thinks I’m a joke,_ Jaemin muses to himself. He presses the muzzle harder into Sicheng’s forehead, he’s sure it’ll leave a mark. Good. That’s what he wants. He’ll show this son of a bitch—

“Ah!” Sicheng exclaims with devilish joy when the forgotten screens next to Jaemin flicker and display what looks like live video footage.

Jaemin’s fingers lose their grip and his gun falls to his side as his heart drops to the floor. The man smiling at his reaction goes forgotten as Jaemin’s shaking eyes focus on the screens in front of him.

“D-Duckie,” Jaemin’s voice comes out breathless and choked. He feels like he’s just been punched in the gut. He watches the screens as Donghyuck shifts on their bed, arms splayed out as he breathes evenly, a telltale sign he’s deep in sleep.

“So _that’s_ his name!” Sicheng says brightly. Jaemin whips around, gun back in his hands and pointing directly at the man once again. Jaemin is seeing red, hands trembling slightly from the shock of seeing his sleeping fiancé on the screens. His knuckles turn white from how tight he’s gripping his weapon.

“What the hell is this?” Jaemin jerks his head to the screens.

“Isn’t it obvious? It’s your beloved fiancé resting soundly at home! He’s quite beautiful when he’s sleeping,” Sicheng’s obnoxious grin is replaced with a roguish smirk.

“Watch your fucking mouth. I’ll shoot you where you stand.” Just as Jaemin is about to pull the trigger and end this vicious loop they’re in, Sicheng’s smile drops and he clicks his tongue. He shakes his head as his cold eyes lazily glance back to the screen. He looks much more sane and much more intimidating without the smile. It sends a shiver down Jaemin’s back.

Jaemin glances back at the screen before he cries out and turns his full attention to the screen. 

Donghyuck is still asleep. But this time, a bright red laser is trained on the center of his forehead, and Jaemin’s blood runs deathly cold. Every alarm is blaring and going off in his head, but he’s completely frozen. He has no idea what to do. He’s forty minutes away from his lover, he can’t contact his team, he can’t call out to Donghyuck and wake him up and tell him he’s about to be shot.

If he can’t protect the one person he’s vowed his entire life to protect, then what is he good for? Jaemin feels helplessly trapped. Useless. Completely and utterly useless.

He falls to his knees, his knee pads scraping against the cement.

“Please,” Jaemin cries brokenly, his vision blurring with tears. “Please, don’t hurt him. If you’re gonna kill someone, kill me.” Jaemin looks up at Sicheng, eyes wide and begging. Sicheng meets his gaze, golden eyes entirely unimpressed and blasé.

Jaemin shuts his eyes and gulps when he feels the cold metal of a gun pressing against his forehead. Sicheng walks around him, gun dragging along his head. Jaemin feels like a prey being circled by its predator. He didn’t expect the night to take this turn. He didn’t expect to submit to this man so quickly. But for Donghyuck, he would do anything. For Donghyuck, he would die.

Sicheng stops behind him but the weight of the gun against the crown of his head reminds him that he is completely at the mercy of this horrible man. One wrong move and he’ll be blown to bits.

“I find it quite boring when a man gets on their knees for me so easily. I like to work for it, it adds a bit of spice to my day. What happened to that sharp tongue of yours? Weren’t you going to shoot me just mere minutes ago?” Sicheng’s breath is hot against his ear. It makes Jaemin’s spine crawl. His musky and nutty scent burns Jaemin’s nostrils and suffocates him. His already heavy breathing grows more erratic.

“Please,” Jaemin begs again, voice breathy and defeated. His eyes tremble as he stares at the red dot on Donghyuck's forehead. He holds his breath in fear that he’ll trigger something, make Sicheng call out to his sniper and command the trigger to be pulled. Jaemin has never felt this scared before. He’s absolutely terrified that in three seconds flat, the man he’s devoted his entire heart and life to will be lying in their bed with a halo of blood staining the sheets.

“I’ll do anything you ask of me. I won’t tell anyone that I saw you. I’ll— I’ll disappear completely. Just please, don’t hurt him. He’s done nothing wrong, he doesn’t even know what my job is. He’s completely innocent.”

“Oh, Agent Na, you should know better than anyone. I wouldn’t be targeted by the government if I _didn't_ kill innocent people, now would I?” Jaemin can’t see his face, but he can hear the smile in his voice. Jaemin cries out when long fingers grip a handful of his hair, his scalp screaming. Sicheng pulls his head back so that he’s looking up into Sicheng’s apathetic yet furious eyes.

“Of course, I wouldn’t be in this position in the first place if it weren’t for your corrupted agency. You act as if your beloved teammates, your closest friends, your _family_ haven’t killed innocent people before. If your damned agency hadn’t made that unforgivable mistake all those years ago, I wouldn’t be here today. But you gave me no choice. You back a dog into a corner, and eventually it’ll bite. Do not be surprised that I am finally baring my fangs.”

Jaemin’s head begins to ache from the tugging. His eyes are screwed shut in pain and he wants to let a sob rip from his throat. He’s so confused and has absolutely no idea what Sicheng is talking about. But he can’t do anything except stay quiet and take it all. If he says one wrong word he’ll lose the love of his life.

Sicheng sighs and releases Jaemin’s hair. His hands shoot up to rub and soothe his burning scalp. That makes Sicheng chuckle dryly. The heels of his dress shoes click against the cement as he walks off to the side, gun hanging in his hand carelessly, but still trained on Jaemin. Jaemin tries to rack his brain for ways out of this, tries to use the quick thinking and adaptability he _knows_ he has, but every plan he comes up with is too risky. If the life of his lover wasn’t being held over his head like a carrot on a stick, he would’ve been halfway out the door by now with only a few scratches.

“I’m not a monster, Mr. Na,” Sicheng sighs. Jaemin almost laughs at the irony of the statement. _Almost_. “Here’s what I’ll do. I’ll give you a single phone call. One minute. You can either call your agency, or you can call your beloved fiancé. Say your goodbyes, your plan, whatever you wish. But choose your words wisely, because a life is at stake here. I’m sure you wouldn’t want any deaths to occur on your account, now would you?”

Jaemin stays silent. Sicheng takes it as an answer.

“Wonderful!” Sicheng cheers. He walks up to Jaemin and pulls out a small black phone. He hands it to him and steps back, the gun still trained on him.

Jaemin takes a deep breath and gives himself two seconds to make a decision. The hardest decision he’s ever had to make. He dials the number and waits with nauseating anticipation for an answer.

_“This is Huang,”_ Renjun says, voice audibly strained. Jaemin feels his features soften at the familiar voice.

“Renjun, listen to me. There’s things I have to take care of. I need you to tell Donghyuck that I died on a mission. Don’t elaborate or tell him about my job, tell him it’s all confidential. I fear that it’ll all be too much for him. My death will be enough of a shock for him. I don’t want to hurt him any more than I’m about to.”

“Tick tock, my dear,” Sicheng sings, pointing the gun at the screen where Donghyuck’s sleeping figure is displayed like a sacrifice hanging from a cliff.

_“Jaemin, what the hell are you talking about?! Who was that? Our comms got jammed as soon as you entered the warehouse, I’m sending the rescue team along with your brother and Jeno—”_

“No! Renjun, no. Listen. I need you to trust me, okay? Everything will be okay if you just trust me. Don’t look for me. When the time comes—you’ll know. Afterall… you are my partner..”

_“Jaemin—”_ Jaemin can hear the pain in Renjun’s voice. He wonders if he’s crying. Renjun never cries, so he doubts it. _“Jaemin, I can’t. It’s my job to protect you, to get you out of every fucking mission alive. That’s **my** job, and you’re taking that away from me. You’re not just my responsibility, you’re my friend. At least let me get Taeyong involv—”_

“Renjun, please. I need you to do this for me. I’ve _got this_ , Jun,” the nickname slips before he can stop himself. It makes this entire process infinitely harder. “You know I do. I’m trusting you.” Jaemin hangs up just as Sicheng’s last three fingers count down. He ended the call a few seconds earlier than the time that was given to him. He doesn’t think he would've been able to handle Renjun’s response—his pleas. 

What’s done is done. Jaemin made his decision, said what he said, and he saved his soulmate’s life just as he vowed he would.

Sicheng mumbles something into his earpiece and the red laser pointed at Donghyuck’s head disappears. The screens shut off, and it’s dark once more. That’s the last Jaemin will see of Donghyuck for god knows how long, but he’s thankful their final moment ended with Donghyuck in such a peaceful state, and most importantly, it ended with him _safe_.

Bright yellow lights flicker on and Jaemin squints at the abrupt change.

“That was quite moving, you almost brought me to tears,” Sicheng feigns sympathy. “You listen so well. That’s good. You know when to admit defeat,” he rumbles with laughter. 

“Now, there’s just one last thing you have to do.” Sicheng holsters his glock as four men carrying larger guns walk through one of the back doors. Two of them force Jaemin’s hands behind his back and one zip ties his wrists together, the sharp plastic digging into his soft skin. Another man, short in stature, slim and admittedly attractive (in a twisted, feline sort of way), stands at Sicheng’s side, piercing eyes glinting with evil mirth at the situation. He’s dressed better than the three men behind him—a low-cut v-neck that exposes his pale, toned chest, and a black blazer with embroidered roses on the shoulders, accompanied by slim black jeans that leave nothing to the imagination—and Jaemin quickly recognizes his distinctive physique. He’s Sicheng’s right hand man. Little information other than his height, fighting style, and alias are known to Jaemin and his team. Seeing him in person is jarring to say the least and Jaemin wishes he could relay this discovery to Renjun. But what’s even more intimidating is the large tattoo covering the entire right side of his small face. It’s a chinese dragon, simple black ink with minimal shading, but it starts at his jaw and winds its way up to curl over his quirked brow.

Jaemin wonders if Renjun recalled all of the agents fighting outside of the warehouse—completely oblivious to the life-altering situation happening inside—after his phone call, considering these men were able to stroll into the warehouse without a scratch. He believes it’s Renjun’s doing. He trusts that he listened to him.

Sicheng holds his palm out and raises a sharp brow. Jaemin thinks for a few seconds before realization dawns on him. He cries out when he feels the sharp sting of a knife slicing into the fabric around his neck. His eyes squint and his brows furrow as the man behind him digs the small disc-shaped tracker out of his nape, the warmth of his own blood seeping into the thin fabric of his shirt. He drops it into Sicheng’s hand with a strict bow, and Jaemin relishes in the way his own blood stains Sicheng’s hand. Sicheng drops the tracker on the ground and smashes it with his perfectly polished shoe.

“Take care of him,” Sicheng commands with that bitter voice of his, then turns on his heels and walks away, the short man with the dragon tattoo trailing behind him with a roguish, crooked smile. Jaemin stares brokenly at the shattered pieces. The shattered pieces of his hope.

He’s not even sure if he will make it out alive, if he’ll be able to keep his promise to Donghyuck, if he’ll be able to reassure Renjun’s trust in him.

The men restraining him begin to land punches on his face and stomach, and Jaemin keels over with a groan. A particularly heavy blow to his stomach knocks the air out of him and he begins to cough and heave violently. It isn’t until his vision begins to grow black and spotty around the edges and he’s tasting his own blood do the men stop. He barely registers that his bloody, aching body is being dragged somewhere—god knows where.

Whatever comes next, Jaemin will take it with all his strength, and will never give up in hopes that he will see Donghyuck again.

He _has_ to see him again.

⊹

Jeno leans back in his chair and stretches his arms above his head with a loud yawn. His body aches from the harsh sparring session he had with Yangyang that morning and his neck feels tweaked from looking down at his computer for so long. His cursor blinks at the end of an unfinished sentence as if teasing him for being unable to complete his mission report. His trip to Mexico last month had been packed full of mission-report-worthy material, much to his indignance. When he got off his flight, he was immediately thrown into one of the most intense missions of his career, so he’s had no time to write up the report until now. It’s times like these that he wishes he had Renjun’s lightning-fast typing skills.

He closes the document and powers down his computer without another thought. His joints crack when he stands. Jeno scans the room and finds a few of his fellow agents typing away on their computers, trying to complete their own mission reports and following up on all the cases that got delayed due to the urgent mission that occurred just two weeks ago. Jeno’s eyes soften into a smile when he sees a particular agent with his head smashed into his desk.

He approaches said desk and bends down to pet the large german shepherd resting at the sleeping agent’s feet. The dog (Sam, short for samgyeopsal, the uncreative owner’s favorite food…) raises his head, black eyes large and excited to see Jeno in front of him. Jeno scrunches his nose at the dog and ruffles the black fur atop his head. Sam licks a large stripe across Jeno’s hand, the man chuckling quietly. After a few more strokes, Jeno stands and flicks the sleeping agent on the back of his head.

“Ow!” The boy cries out, head lifting from the desk and hands flying to the top of his head. Jeno chortles.

“Why are you out here so late if you are just going to fall asleep at your desk?” Jeno quirks his head inquisitively.

Jisung pushes his round glasses up the bridge of his nose, bottom lip jutting out. “Mr. Huang wanted me to review some old mission reports and practice logging them, but my fingers started hurting from all the typing, and my shoulders are sore from my marksmanship training with Senior Agent Suh…”

Jeno huffs his bangs out of his eyes. “It is already midnight, kiddo. Just head back to the barracks and get some rest, I will tell Renjun that you will finish it tomorrow. You are still growing and this is the most crucial phase of your training, so you need all the rest you can get. And I believe Sam is getting hungry.” Jeno points down at the dog staring up at him. Jisung sighs and rubs his dog’s head before swiveling back to his desk and shutting off the computer screen.

“Thanks, hyung,” Jisung puffs out his cheeks and for a moment, Jeno recalls a memory of a similar looking boy—much smaller and younger at the time—staring up at him with red cheeks and smiling eyes. It’s a painful memory. All of Jeno’s past memories have been twisted into something unpleasant.

“Do not mention it,” Jeno responds gently as he always has and always will, no matter who he’s talking to. “I will see you and Sammie tomorrow. And be weary that we are meeting in the firing range at noon. You thought marksman training was hard with Suh, just wait until you have me in the room,” Jeno teases with no real bite, but his words are nothing but truthful. Appearance and personality wise, he’s always been a very kind and relaxed agent. But when he’s out in the field or training his precious rookies, he turns into everyone’s worst nightmare. Deep down, Jeno knows his students thank him for it, and his enemies curse his skill.

Jisung responds with a groan which elicits another soft chuckle from the older male. Jeno pets both Samgyeopsal and Jisung’s heads before sending them off in the direction of the barracks.

Jeno calls out a few farewells to the other agents in the office before grabbing his bag and striding out of the large room. He turns down a long hall and pokes his head into the boss’s office to say goodnight. Taeyong looks up from his papers when he hears Jeno call out to him.

“Goodnight, boss. Do not work yourself too hard, we still have a world to save.” Jeno repeats the same thing every night, and the rare smile he pulls out of his boss is plenty of reward for him. 

Taeyong removes his thin square glasses and places them elegantly atop a monstrous stack of papers. His deep blue hair is still gelled back in a perfect swoop, but his tie has been loosened and his collar is a bit crooked. Jeno’s perfectionist side itches to reach out and fix it, but he’ll leave that job for the boss’s husband, who’s probably waiting impatiently back at home.

“You know, you really should not leave Doyoung hyung waiting so long. Even if he is just as much a workaholic as you… I still cannot comprehend how you two manage such a healthy marriage. I aspire to be like you, boss,” Jeno grins widely at the pointed glare he receives. Jeno knows Taeyong will never listen to him and that despite the nightly reminder, he’ll continue to hammer away at whatever bossley duties need his attention until the sun rises.

Seriously, Jeno has no idea how Taeyong keeps that gorgeously chiseled face glowing every day—save for the very prominent dark circles that only add to his striking appearance.

“Goodnight, Lee,” Taeyong grits out, trying to seem more intimidating by using Jeno’s last name. It only makes the younger agent smile wider.

“Goodnight,” Jeno responds as he’s already halfway out the door.

A few more turns down some halls and he stands in front of an office he knows just a little less than his own home. He raps his knuckles against the heavy door twice before walking in. He’s entirely unfazed to find that the pristine white chair behind the large glass desks is empty. Jeno walks further into the vast office and plucks a few items from the desk and shelves, dropping them into a bag hanging in the corner of the room. He flicks off the light and locks the door with his spare key before making his way to the elevators at the end of the hall.

He stops by the 24/7 cafeteria to grab some protein bars, an orange and cartons of milk before continuing his descent to the basement floor. The elevator doors slide open and Jeno treads through the dark space until he finds the one lab room that’s still brightly lit. He scans his palm on the scanner and the doors slide open with a low hiss.

He leans against one of the heavy shelves at the back wall, watching his small boyfriend shuffle around the room and mess with some of the random gadgets before him. When ten minutes pass and he’s still gone unnoticed, Jeno sighs loudly.

“Jesus fuck, you scared the shit out of me!”

Instantly, Jeno feels his heavy shoulders lighten.

“It’s 12:30,” Jeno replies, arms crossed against his chest. Renjun gives a dismissive grunt before hunching over the lab table and messing with his project again. The response makes Jeno’s brows furrow in an uncharacteristic frown. He drops the heavy bag on the floor and shuffles his way to his small boyfriend.

“Don’t mess with me right now,” Renjun says with a pair of forceps in his hand as he presses some wires against a battery pad. “I’m working.”

Jeno ignores him, of course. His long arms slide around Renjun’s thin waist and his hands find purchase on his bony hips. Off in the corner of the table, an impressive stack of chip bags and wrappers is stacked high—a telltale sign that Renjun is working extra hard to keep his old habits at bay. Not smoking has already proven to be a difficult task for the man if his years of constant snacking to keep his mouth distracted is anything to go by, so Jeno can only imagine how strong his desire for a cigarette between his teeth has become due to the stress of losing his closest friend.

For a while, Jeno just stands there, thumbs rubbing soothing circles over the waistband of Renjun’s slacks as he watches his boyfriend work. Jeno takes note of the fact that Renjun hasn’t protested this position or his caresses.

Until Jeno rests his chin on Renjun’s shoulder and starts nuzzling at the warmth of his neck, leaving a few innocent kisses beneath his earlobe. 

Renjun slinks away from the affection out of habit rather than intention or desire. Jeno must look hurt by the action, because Renjun immediately moves into his space again and gives him one of his rare soft smiles—the ones that make him look youthful and carefree —which surprises him and makes his heart flutter.

“Sorry,” Renjun mumbles, which causes Jeno’s already raised brows to shoot up into his hairline. The soft smile is gone too soon. Jeno aches to see it again, but instead it’s replaced with Renjun’s usual sad, tired eyes. The eyes that carry a million and one tragedies in their earthy-green irises.

“Babe, let’s head to bed now, yeah?” Jeno croons, arms wrapping around Renjun’s torso once again. Just as Renjun turns his face with a scowl to ultimately scold him for the pet name usage, Jeno beats him to it. “No one else is in here.”

Renjun’s jaw snaps shut and he returns to his work.

“Baby,” Jeno tries again, squeezing the man in his arms a bit. Renjun ignores him completely, the small gadget in his hands zapping with electricity.

“Huang Renjun,” Jeno calls a bit more affirmatively, and that tone he uses for _very specific, non-work related things_ gets the man to look at him again.

“Jeno, I can’t. I’m trying to work on this new communication system. I’m not letting anything interfere with our damn comms again.”

“Renjun, that was _not_ your fault,” Jeno turns his boyfriend around to face him completely. His expression is entirely serious, which unnerves Renjun just a bit. “You have to stop blaming yourself for what happened. Jaemin made that decision all on his own, and no one could have predicted the outcome of that mission. Not even you.”

Renjun tries to dismiss him again, but Jeno’s hands tighten on his waist. He knows it’s just a defense mechanism. Renjun doesn’t want to address a situation that could potentially hurt him. That’s why he works so impossibly hard. It keeps him distracted. 

“All we can do is trust what Jaemin said, and do the best we can with whatever information we are able to gather, _as a team_ , about GH0ST. When Jaemin comes back, he will be able to tell us everything.” Jeno must’ve struck a nerve, because the next time Renjun speaks, his voice sounds raw.

“You say that as if he’s going to come back! He’s in the hands of a psychopath, Jeno! He was as good as dead the minute his tracker shut off.”

Jeno remains calm and gentle despite the outburst. He brings a warm hand up to rest on Renjun’s cheek. His thumbs swipe at the dark and reddened patches of skin beneath Renjun’s shaking, glassy eyes.

“Don’t say that. We must have faith in him. Come on, you need to get some rest. You are overworking yourself worse than normal, and I know this will only lead to bad things. You will be unable to help anyone in this state, especially yourself, and there are other agents that still need you.”

The mention of other agents seems to get through to Renjun, because with a defeated sigh and a sidelong glance at his unfinished project, he’s pushing out of Jeno’s arms to clean up the lab and close up shop. Jeno steps off to the side and allows Renjun to put away his files and materials, arrange his tools in perfect order and shut off the glowing holograms of blueprints and notes written in Renjun’s perfect scrawl. Renjun has a painfully specific way that he does things, so Jeno knows that trying to assist him will only result in an argument, which neither man needs right now.

Finally, Renjun removes the goggles resting atop his head and flicks off the fluorescent lights one by one. Jeno grabs their bags and they walk out of the lab, down the hall, and into the elevator. Once inside the privacy of the elevator, Renjun turns to Jeno and initiates skinship for the first time since they left their dorm that morning.

It’s always a pleasant surprise when Renjun shows affection. He’s long accepted that Renjun just isn’t the touchy type, _especially_ not in their workplace, but it’s always a nice reassurance. Their job is incredibly taxing on their relationship; for Jeno, the physical strain his job puts on his body often makes him too tired or keeps him too busy to properly care for his boyfriend, and the mental strain that Renjun insists on bearing alone often leaves him irritable or too high strung to fully relax and indulge in the affection he secretly craves.

Despite being together for seven years (they met when they both joined the agency as rookies on the same day), Jeno still gets a little anxious that he’s not giving Renjun enough incentive to stay with him, and Renjun worries that his prickly attitude and lack of intimacy will ultimately drive Jeno away. They’ll never voice these insecurities, though. They’re nothing if not stubborn.

Renjun’s small fingers wrapping around Jeno’s wrist gives the larger male a jolt of excitement. His long fingers immediately tangle themselves with Renjun’s. A sudden yank causes Jeno to almost lose his balance, but he quickly centers himself, still hunched down so he’s able to feel Renjun’s warm breath fanning across his face.

Renjun presses his lips to Jeno’s in a rare kiss. It’s quick and innocent, drastically different from the languid, heated kisses they share in the darkness of their room and under the cover of their blankets, but Jeno adores it all the same. Despite Jeno’s knees being bent a significant amount, Renjun still has to look up into the inky-black irises of the man he loves much more than he loves himself. Jeno loses himself in the amber rings of color bleeding from his black pupils, wanting nothing more than to dive in and stay in the warmth of it forever.

“I’m sorry for snapping at you,” Renjun begins, eyes downcast in what looks like genuine shame. Jeno hates that look, wants to kiss every crease and wrinkle that comes with the terrible expression until his skin is soft and smooth. “I’m just tired.” Jeno knows ‘tired’ is a dramatic understatement. He’s exhausted, guilty, terrified. He’s a grand complexity and only Jeno can see through the thick walls and layers of protection he’s built around himself. 

Jeno presses against him until Renjun’s back hits the wall of the elevator. Jeno brings his free hand behind Renjun’s head on instinct. He never wants to see Renjun hurt, especially not because of him. The hand that’s still being gripped between Renjun’s hands slowly slides up the man’s slim arm and snakes around his thin waist. Renjun feels the safest when Jeno’s large hands are holding him by his hips. Jeno knows that, knows this is what Renjun craves and needs right now. He never has to open his mouth, Jeno can see he’s asking for this just from that hazy look in his eyes.

“I know being tired isn’t an excuse for my actions,” Renjun continues even as his breath hitches when Jeno leans down and begins to nibble at the sensitive skin below his ear. “But I’m going to make more of an effort in controlling my temper, especially around you, when you’ve done nothing but be the most understanding and supportive boyfriend someone like me could only hope for.”

Jeno steps to the side a bit and slips his thigh between Renjun’s legs. Renjun curses lightly and thanks his past self for telling Jeno to wear his skin-tight training pants instead of his usual bulky cargo pants. It was originally because he wanted Jeno to try out the new material he’d designed to keep agents from tangling with each other during sparring sessions, but getting to see his lover’s toned legs through the terribly thin fabric was just a bonus. It also meant Renjun could feel the thick muscle now between his legs, which only came with years upon years of intensive training.

“Someone like you?” Jeno whispers breathily into his ear. Renjun curses again. It seems expletives are his default in any situation. Something dark bubbles in the pit of his stomach. Renjun is so fucking glad he’s the only one that can bring this side out of Jeno, so thankful he’s the one that gets to be ravished and destroyed by the wonderful man towering above. And in return, Jeno is glad he’s the only one that can reduce Renjun’s characteristically sharp tongue down to nothing but a babbling mess. Only Jeno can make Renjun red in the face with something _other_ than anger.

“I don’t deserve you, Jeno,” Renjun’s voice comes out as a small whine, bordering on something insecure. Jeno doesn’t like it. He pulls away, just enough to give him space to breathe and feel in control again, but his leg stays planted where it is because Renjun had begun to subconsciously grind into the hard muscle and Jeno just can’t find the willpower to pull away.

Both of Jeno’s hands come up and around to cup Renjun’s face. His brows knit together in concern when he notices that Renjun’s eyes have grown a bit unfocused and foggy. He assumes it’s because of the sudden onslaught of sensation, but he also knows it’s a result of something a bit more serious, a bit more intimate. Something only Jeno knows about and only Jeno can take care of. He thumbs at the soft skin of Renjun’s cheeks and waits for the whimpering boy to come back to himself.

“You deserve the world. Don’t think for one second that you deserve anything less.”

Renjun’s eyes begin to water, which only confirms Jeno’s earlier suspicions. He’s slipped into a very vulnerable headspace just from Jeno’s quick teases and the incredible amount of stress and exhaustion he’s been feeling these past two weeks. That’s one of the biggest catalysts for this situation Jeno feels proud to take care of. Jeno is drowned in a wave of relief when the elevator finally dings at the top floor.

His hands are feather-light when they come down to Renjun’s hips, which still haven’t ceased their movement. When Renjun becomes aware of his sinful motions, his entire body freezes and his face burns red as he lets out a mortified sob. No matter how many times they do stuff like this, Renjun still remains shy and embarrassed. It only increases Jeno’s desire to protect him.

The doors slide open and Jeno is quick to pull Renjun into his side. They walk out and Jeno keeps his grip on Renjun’s waist tight to steady his shaking legs. Luckily, Renjun is tiny, and he’s able to hide within Jeno’s large frame.

As they walk past more staff and agents and Renjun is forced to slip out of that headspace that makes him feel like he’s floating, his body slowly straightens up and Jeno slowly starts to let go. They receive a few curious stares, but everyone in the building knows of their relationship and will never go as far as to question the two high ranking agents. Renjun’s previously blushing and lax face has morphed into its usual taut and stern expression. The wrinkles between his brows have returned, and in less than a minute Renjun is back to being Special Agent Huang Renjun, head of the cyber security, communications and intelligence unit.

Jeno makes note of the way his hands are trembling at his sides, and he will be sure to take care of his beloved boyfriend and let him slip back into the safe space once they’re alone. He’s not sure how long Renjun’s been suppressing this side of him—it feels like it's been ages since either of them have had the time to take care of this part of their relationship, and even longer since Renjun was able to completely let go of himself. He can only imagine how difficult it was for Renjun to force himself back. Jeno feels a bit guilty for his actions in the elevator. He didn’t mean to push him that far. But for now, Jeno keeps a reasonable distance between them and begrudgingly lets his lover go. He knows it’ll only worsen Renjun’s state and make him worry about wandering eyes.

They bow to some of their fellow agents who are either returning to their barracks or going out for late night missions, but they both come to a halt when they walk past the large training rooms. The windows are floor to ceiling glass, allowing anyone walking by to observe whoever may be occupying the room at the moment. Only one of the training rooms is in use, and neither man is surprised to see who’s inside.

Yuta’s long brown hair is soaked from the scalp to the tips in sweat. His tank top clings to his back but droops down at the arm holes, allowing him to move freely. His bare feet are planted firmly into the soft mats below when he thrusts forward. His long katanas are elegant as they slice through the holograms floating in front of him, sending them away in waves of green pixels. Renjun and Jeno watch Yuta dance around with his blades, his skills honed and his movements lightning fast but indescribably beautiful.

They both remember a time when Yuta used to wield a sniper rifle instead of his dual katanas. It was back when they were rookies, before things started to go wrong. Yuta was one of the top marksmen in the agency, his skills with guns unlike anything any of their former higher ups had seen in someone so young. Jeno and Jaemin used to listen to Yuta tell stories of how he had already climbed his way to one of the top-ranking positions even as a rookie. It was only when they were old enough to join the same agency that they discovered his stories were true. He was a legend among Renjun, Jaemin, and Jeno’s class.

The rumor that top agent Nakamoto Yuta had suddenly given up on firearms spread through the agency like a wildfire. Jeno and Renjun were quick to find Jaemin and confirm the news, but when Jeno found his childhood friend crumpled in the corner of a training room sobbing uncontrollably, they knew it was best to hold their questions. Jaemin later explained that after a failed mission, Yuta returned in an ambulance in critical condition. When Jaemin was finally allowed to see him, Yuta had a large bandage over the entire left side of his head, and he had become extremely distant and cold, nothing like the energetic and eccentric brother Jaemin had grown up with.

When Jaemin went to visit him the next day, Yuta was gone. The agency’s former director told Jaemin that his brother had returned to their childhood home in Osaka, and that he would be on an indefinite hiatus. It was devastating to both Jaemin and Jeno, knowing that not only their biggest role model but also their _family_ was in so much pain over something they were completely unaware of. And seeing his best friends so distraught hurt Renjun by default.

It felt like years before Yuta finally returned to Korea. He walked into the agency a few weeks before Jaemin, Jeno, and Renjun were set to graduate from their training academy. Jeno still remembers the ice cold aura that surrounded his hyung when he walked past them without so much as a glance in their direction. He was wearing all black (a stark contrast to his usual patterned shirts and bright colors) and the hood pulled over his short hair—shorter than Jeno had ever seen it before—did little to hide the massive scar running from his left temple all the way down to his left cheek. It was a bright red and still very fresh, they could only imagine how much pain Yuta was in despite his deadpan look. The eyepatch over his left eye hid secrets he refused to reveal for an entire year after that.

He approached Renjun’s former teacher and made the request for weapons he could use to accommodate his freshly blind eye, and that’s how he ended up with his katanas. It wasn’t until the boys were well into their agent lifestyle did Yuta finally open up about what went so wrong during that mission back in 2014. Shortly after, the source of all of Yuta’s trauma and pain resurfaced, and it became the new generation’s problem.

“How is Yuta hyung doing?” Renjun pulls Jeno out of his recollecting.

“Wearing himself to the bone, just like you,” Jeno sighs solemnly. “His baby brother goes missing, and into the hands of his ex fling, no less.”

“I don’t think you can consider what they had a… _‘fling’_.” Renjun exaggerates the word.

Yuta flips away from one of the moving targets before slicing the poor holographic head clean off its holographic body. Jeno notices that Yuta is still wearing the exact outfit he was wearing when Jeno found him at sunrise. Ever since Jaemin went missing, Yuta had used his authority to opt out of any of his upcoming missions in favor of locking himself inside the training room and working himself to complete exhaustion.

Unlike Renjun, Yuta no longer has someone to take care of him. Jaemin was always the one to pull him away when he was overdoing himself.

“You wanna talk about guilt… Just look at him. I can’t even imagine what he must be feeling right now,” Jeno’s lips downturn in a frown. He worries for his friend, the brother he never had.

“Come on,” Jeno wraps an arm around Renjun’s shoulders, no longer caring if someone sees his display of affection. Renjun is starting to get lost in his head again after seeing how torn up Yuta is, so Jeno knows he has to act fast to try and get his mind off things.

With a final sympathetic glance at the sweating, panting swordsman now kneeling on the ground, they turn down the hall and walk until they reach their dorm.

⊹

Jeno collapses next to Renjun with a quiet groan. Renjun’s chest heaves with deep gulps of air, but he feels like he’s floating. His ears feel clogged and all sound has grown muffled, and his eyes and cheeks are wet with tears. His throat feels raw from all the moaning and screaming, but he feels safe. Protected. Warm. He likes feeling like this, likes being taken care of for once, and likes it even more that Jeno is the one doing it. He feels like he’s submerged in water, but his lungs aren’t screaming for oxygen and he isn’t struggling to keep himself above the surface. Once inside the privacy of their dorm, he allowed himself to sink deeper and deeper into that comforting headspace he’s only ever shown to Jeno.

Renjun stares up at the ceiling blearily, barely registering his boyfriend's gentle words. “I’m going to grab a towel, okay?” Renjun makes a sound of acknowledgement—at least he thinks he does. He isn’t sure. His head feels like it’s filled with clouds.

Jeno disappears into the next room and returns within seconds, warm washcloth in hand. Renjun isn’t aware of the fact that he’s making any noise as Jeno cleans his sweaty and sticky skin until Jeno gently begins to shush him. He’s not sure if he’s actually stopped making noises or if Jeno has come to the realization that he’s way too out of it to be in control of all of his motor skills.

Soft fabric brushes against his bare legs and he absentmindedly lifts his hips to help Jeno as much as he can in this state. This time, he’s aware of the breathy whimper he lets out. He’s become hyper aware of every feather-light touch and even the innocent brush of Jeno’s fingertips against his hips as he pulls on a fresh pair of underwear feels like he’s being overstimulated. As soon as he’s done, he pulls away quickly and patiently waits for Renjun to regain control of his mind and body.

“Are you okay?” Jeno asks in a hushed tone after a few minutes of silence. Renjun opens his mouth to speak but finds that his throat has gone completely dry. Jeno, the sweetheart that he is, was prepared for this because suddenly he’s bringing a glass of water to his lips. He helps Renjun scoot up the bed so he can wrap his fingers around the cool glass and take a few long gulps. Jeno pats away the droplets lingering on his lips with the back of his hand before pulling out of his space again.

Renjun nods. His eyes are starting to clear up and he can now make out the minuscule smile on Jeno’s lips. It would be nearly unnoticeable if not for the crescents his eyes have become. He’s always smiled with his eyes more than his lips. Now that the heat of engaging in such intimate activities and the warmth that comes with slipping into such a vulnerable headspace is beginning to dissipate, the cold bitterness of insecurity and guilt is creeping back into Renjun’s system. He can’t help the apology that escapes his lips no matter how many times he’s tried.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting that to happen. I guess it’s just been a while and I’ve been feeling frustrated, and with the stress of everything going on…”

Jeno huffs a small laugh. “I fail to see what it is you are apologizing for.”

His voice is dripping with adoration and post-sex satisfaction. Renjun feels himself stir a bit at the even deeper than usual tone of his lover, but that pestering self-doubt is still lingering. Jeno has always been good to him, too good. He’s completely undeserving of such admiration and affection. No matter how many years they are together, Renjun is still convinced that he’s somehow cheating Jeno of something, _someone_ better.

“I know I’m a lot to handle when I get like… _that_. You’re so patient with me and I’m so out of it. You don’t even get to enjoy yourself.”

Jeno moves closer on the bed and sighs. “I finished, didn’t I?”

Renjun’s face bursts into flames.

“Do not sell yourself short, darling. You had me crying out in ecstasy within ten minutes. I think that’s a new record!” He exclaims brazenly, smile innocent despite his shameful words.

Renjun cries out in embarrassment and promptly buries his face into the nearest pillow. To their peers in the outside world, his actions would be entirely uncharacteristic and quite a shock, but to Jeno, this is normal. This is familiar. He loves making Renjun squirm both out of pleasure and embarrassment.

Jeno barks a laugh and runs a hand through his damp hair. Renjun finally peeks at him from the pillow, but the deep blush running from his soft cheeks to the center of his chest only makes him laugh harder.

“May I touch you?” Jeno asks through soft chuckles. Renjun nods without hesitation then continues to suffocate himself inside the plush fabric. He feels Jeno’s arms wrap around his bare stomach and before he can protest, he’s being flipped onto his back. Jeno nuzzles his nose into the junction between Renjun’s neck and shoulder and throws a leg over Renjun’s small frame, successfully trapping him inside his embrace.

“How can you talk about that shit so openly?” Renjun huffs, arms rigid at his sides in protest. He’s almost entirely back to himself now. Jeno squeezes him tighter.

“What is there to be ashamed about? Making love is one of the many joyous experiences of life. I would show you off to the entire world if I could. If you allowed it.”

“If you talk about this to anyone, I will _actually_ kill you.” 

Renjun doesn’t mean it. He never means it, and he frustrates himself when he reacts to Jeno’s kind words with aggression. Jeno has never complained nor shown any discomfort toward Renjun’s bitter comments, but still. Jeno doesn’t deserve that.

It took a lot of time and a lot of help from Jeno for Renjun to realize that his irritable, explosive temper is simply a coping mechanism. It’s part of the thick armor he wears around everyone except his boyfriend and the family he’s made at the agency. And that’s only a couple of people—if that. Renjun used to be very close with his fellow agents. He believed a strong bond created within the safety of their agency would only add to the success of their missions out in the field. But after countless deaths during Renjun’s days in the field, he began to subconsciously push people away with his bad attitude and groundless insults in hopes of keeping the pain of losing someone he cared about to an absolute minimum. It never truly works, but it helps. Now, instead of feeling grief when he loses one of his agents, he feels guilt and self-blame. He’ll take the latter rather than the former.

Jeno has always been by his side. He never allowed Renjun to push him away when he started to fall into that awful habit. They’re complete opposites in the way Jeno embraces everyone with warmth and treats everyone as his family, and Renjun is quick to shut down kindness and refuses to form close bonds with those around him.

Everyone in Renjun’s unit knows how deeply the small man actually cares. Everyone except for Renjun, apparently.

“Shall I run you a bath?” Jeno asks quietly after a few minutes.

“Nuh uh,” Renjun’s voice is muffled from where he’s buried his head into Jeno’s neck. He’s aware of how childish he seems, but he can’t find it in him to care right now. “Jus’ wanna sleep.”

“Mmm,” Jeno’s throat vibrates against Renjun’s face as he hums deeply. “Well, you need to eat something before you do that. I don’t even know when’s the last time you put something inside your body.”

A few seconds of silence, and Renjun is already cringing before Jeno opens his mouth.

“Well...besides me of course.”

“Oh god,” Renjun chokes out a laugh, but it’s sincere.

Jeno feels his body heat at the sound. He got the response he was silently hoping for.

Renjun groans in protest when Jeno slowly begins to sit up, effectively bursting their little bubble of warmth. He reaches over to the bedside table and brings a plate of orange slices to him (when did he even cut that?), holding one up and waiting for Renjun to open his mouth.

Renjun, being the stubborn brat that he is, just lies there. Jeno pushes the peeled fruit against his sealed lips, making a little whine of frustration. “Open up, you need to eat something.”

He’s unwavering, a mischievous glint in his eyes. Jeno huffs and runs his free hand through his damp locks, pushing all of his hair out of his face. The action almost takes his breath away. Jeno tries to push the fruit against his lips once more and Renjun’s mouth comes alive at the tangy juice that slips through his lips.

“Come on, Jun.” Jeno’s voice has the smallest hint of annoyance laced within the deep tone. Renjun feels dark satisfaction bubbling within him at his ability to get the man riled up so easily. If all goes well...he might be in store for a third round. His body is cursing him for this sudden desire, because he really is hungry and he really is tired.

“Renjun, I’m not going to ask again. Open your mouth.” That gets Renjun to reconsider his original plan. The tone Jeno uses only in situations when Renjun is actively trying to disobey him makes a pleasant chill run down his spine. On the outside looking in, no one would expect that behind closed doors, Jeno is the one making orders and putting Renjun in his place (gently, respectfully, and consensually of course).

Finally, Renjun gives up and opens his mouth. The beautiful smile Jeno gives him in return is worth the mild disappointment he receives once he realizes Jeno really is just trying to get some food inside him before bed. He can’t be too upset though, they taste _delicious_ and by god he was _starving_. He finishes the entire orange in less than two minutes, sucking the juice off of Jeno’s fingers just as an extra ‘fuck you’ for almost getting him riled up again. Jeno simply chuckles to himself and wipes his hand on a napkin.

The warmth returns when Jeno pulls the small boy against his chest and the blanket over their half-naked bodies. He places a soft kiss atop the crown of Renjun’s head, whispering ‘ _I love you_ ,’ into the soft hair. A gentle reminder Renjun constantly needs, but never asks for. Thankfully, he doesn't need to.

The two men lie in comfortable silence, the only sound being their standing fan in the corner of the bedroom. Their dorm room is small and simple. They have the basics. A bathroom, a bedroom, a small dining area and an even smaller kitchen. These dorms aren't meant for permanent living, especially not for agents as high-ranking and well-paid as them. They’re meant for rookies in training academy and workaholics who need a place to crash after working a thirty-six hour shift.

Renjun and Jeno definitely fall under the ‘workaholic’ category. They saw no point in wasting money on an apartment when they’re both unhealthily committed to their job. Although, their job kind of requires all or nothing, and their ranks result in plenty of overtime. Their home wouldn’t be much of a home if it weren’t for Jeno’s wonderful attempt at decorating.

“How do you always stay so calm?” Renjun mutters against his bare chest. It’s almost as if he didn’t want to be heard. But Jeno’s senses are heightened at all times, even when he’s in the safety of his own home. He couldn’t miss Renjun’s whispers even if he tried.

“I’m not entirely sure. I suppose it has just become second nature for me to react this way in stressful situations. Going crazy and getting upset with people is not going to change the fact that these problems happen, and it is not going to help anyone find a solution. Every day that I go out there and save a life, I do it for Jaemin and for every agent we have ever lost.” Jeno pulls back a bit so he can stare into Renjun’s hazel eyes. He brushes the blonde bangs away from his eyes so he can properly admire his lover’s small face. The breath Jeno lets out is sweet and he finds himself getting drunk off of it.

“I don’t know if he is alive, love. I hope from the bottom of my heart that he is okay, I know he’s strong and I know we are his family, so he must have done what he did for a good reason. We just have to trust him.”

Renjun breaks their gaze and looks down at their tangled legs. He feels the unfamiliar moisture of tears brimming his eyes. He blinks rapidly to get rid of them. He refuses to cry. Crying is useless.

Jeno runs a gentle finger across Renjun’s cheekbone before hooking it below his chin and forcing him to meet his eyes.

“It is okay to cry, Junnie.” His voice is soft. Unbearably soft. The unadulterated love in his tone is almost enough to push Renjun over the edge.

“Crying doesn’t achieve anything. It’s not gonna bring Jaemin back and it’s not gonna give me a solution to this fucking problem. All it does is make me feel weak and it makes my face all red and ugly.” 

Renjun refuses to break. He’s as stubborn as an ox, but that’s why he’s so good at his job.

“You know you aren’t alone in this, right? We are all working hard to find him. Don’t put this all on yourself. Share some of the burden with me, Renjun. I want to carry it.”

Jeno is too selfless for his own good. When Renjun realized he was in love with this man all those years ago, he swore to himself that he would never let his stained soul soil Jeno’s pure heart.

He will not ruin the one thing he cherishes so deeply.

“I’m okay, Jen.” Renjun seals his words with a kiss to seem extra convincing. Jeno knows the truth, but for the sake of keeping this warmth between them, he does not voice it.

“Sing to me?” Jeno whispers into his hairline.

Renjun’s chest rumbles with a low hum as he begins to sing one of Jeno’s favorite songs. One of the few things he _is_ confident in, is his voice. He’s been blessed with the voice of an angel, as Jeno likes to put it.

His voice is just above a whisper as he continues to sing into the serene darkness. Normally, the darkness would make him anxious and on high alert, but being in Jeno’s arms, he feels he could face all of his fears. Renjun sings to Jeno because it is one of the only ways he feels he can repay him for all that he’s done for him over the course of their relationship. His voice soothes Jeno’s heart and mind because Renjun knows even he can get stressed too. It’s only natural considering their high-intensity occupation.

The comforting ministrations Jeno was rubbing into his bare thigh slowly cease as his breathing evens out into a low snore. Renjun’s voice lulls him to sleep as it does on most nights. Renjun looks up and smiles to himself at the tranquil look on his face. His skin is smooth and the corners of his lips are upturned in complete security. Renjun lowers his voice to a breath of a whisper and kisses his beloved’s forehead before cuddling into him and drifting off, a quiet _‘I love you’_ lingering on his tongue.

⊹

The searing pain Jaemin felt at the beginning of his visit to hell has become nothing but a dull ache—more of an inconvenience than anything else. It makes his usually deft and swift movements sluggish and slow. He can barely stand long enough to use the bathroom anymore. Luckily, when the interrogation starts, along with the beatings, they at least have the decency to give him a chair. It takes little to no effort to take some kicks and punches. He just has to sit there and accept it. He can’t even react if he wants to. He’s so exhausted that the rise of his chest when taking a breath feels like he’s lifting a thousand pounds.

His mind is fuzzy and his ears ring after the man before him—someone he has become well acquainted with during his time in this shithole (he lost count somewhere around the ten day mark)—lands another painful blow to the side of his head. Jaemin barely makes so much as a grunt. Normally it’d be scary how _used_ to the pain he is, but his brain is throbbing inside his skull, effectively cutting off all train of thought. He can barely register the question he’s heard a thousand times over the blood rushing in his ears. Or rushing out. His ears tend to bleed when he’s overworked and exhausted, but Jaemin cannot discern which orifices any of the blood on his body comes out of anymore.

“What are you guys planning?” The question finally meets Jaemin’s ears after the third time.

Jaemin does not answer. He has yet to answer a single question. The men that so wonderfully grace his presence every day offer to clean him up, treat his wounds, and end the torture, if only Jaemin would open his mouth. Jaemin doesn’t care. He’s sworn himself to secrecy under the government, and he’s sworn to protect his friends, his _family_ , under a personal oath.

So he will continue to take the beatings. He’s been dealing with it for so long it no longer has any effect on him. He doesn't even have the energy to act scared anymore. It irks his attackers to no end.

“You son of a _bitch_ ,” the man punctuates his curse with a heavy punch to Jaemin’s already broken ribs. It pulls a sharp gasp from him, and the two men standing before him smile in sickening satisfaction. “It’s been twenty-seven days of this shit and you still haven’t said a thing. Maybe we’re feeding you too much, letting you sleep too long. I’m sure the boss wouldn’t be opposed to a change in treatment. This isn’t a damn hotel. You aren’t here to play games, you aren’t in charge here.”

The familiar coolness of gunmetal pressing against the back of his skull makes a shiver run down his spine every time. His eyes flutter shut, and for what he now knows is the _twenty-seventh time_ , he prays for the safety and well-being of those he will be leaving behind. For whatever reason, Sicheng allowed him to keep the cross necklaces sticking to the sweat on his chest. Something about a mutual respect for someone above both of them.

“You’re making me lose my temper, dickfucker,” the man behind him spits, pressing the muzzle of his gun harder into the back of Jaemin’s head. He barely feels the sting.

Jaemin snorts. “That doesn’t even make sense, but at least you’re getting creative with the names. I was starting to get bored. You sounded like a broken record.” Jaemin’s voice sounds so unrecognizable to himself it makes his stomach churn with nausea. It’s deep and gruff and broken and so very dry. It’s lost all of its warmth and softness Jaemin tried so hard to associate himself with. Donghyuck wouldn’t be able to pick it out of a crowd. That hurts worse than any of the methods of torture inflicted upon him so far.

“You’re one cocky bastard. You some sort of masochist? I have a gun pressed to your head yet you’re still talking so much shit.” Jaemin hears the heavy creaking of the metal door being pushed open. It’s so dark in the room save for the single light hanging above his head, he can’t even make out the face of the man that has just entered. He can see the shadow of a figure, a short and lean one. One that Jaemin does not see very often, if at all. 

The figure leans against one of the walls in front of Jaemin, face still hidden in the darkness, watching. 

“You’re not going to shoot me,” Jaemin says simply with a shrug of his shoulders. The movement is a bit difficult, what with his arms being bound with coarse rope behind the back of the chair. Not to mention he’s pretty sure his arms are broken too. Maybe. The burning ache is nothing more than a discomfort now.

“And what makes you so sure of that?” The cocking of a gun rips through the eerie silence of the room, echoing off the cement walls.

“Because you’re not in charge either. If you shoot me, your boss loses possibly his only hope of taking down my agency. And I can guarantee that he would not hesitate to kill you. So you can decide for yourself if my life is worth your own.” Jaemin hears the man’s breath hitch—he’s won this argument yet again.

Or so he thinks.

Suddenly, he’s being yanked from the chair and shoved into the hard concrete beneath him. A sweltering twinge of pain jolts down his shoulder all the way to his tailbone, making his entire spine go numb. The man kneels against the back of his neck. Jaemin does his best to keep quiet, not wanting to give the man the satisfaction of hurting him.

“I’m sick and tired of your bullshit.” The gun is pressed into his temple. “I warned you about my temper—”

A loud bang erupts in the room and it makes Jaemin’s ears ring. He feels the warmth of blood splatter across his face, but he doesn’t feel any pain. Maybe he died before he even had a chance to feel anything.

The body that was leaning against his neck slumps to the ground beside him. 

Oh. So it wasn’t his own blood.

Jaemin is now face to face with the man previously pointing a gun to his head. The man’s eyes are wide and glossed over—lifeless. His mouth is slightly agape and his neck is craned in a strange way.

An exasperated sigh above Jaemin makes him jolt back to awareness. Another man, much smaller than his torturer, kneels next to the dead body.

The man pulls out a white handkerchief with one hand, the other hand digging into the back of the dead man’s head to pull out the bullet. Jaemin cringes at the noise it makes. The bullet is dropped into the handkerchief and the white satin becomes crimson. It reminds Jaemin of the red carnations Donghyuck used to decorate their dining table with.

“I told Winnie it was a bad idea recruiting petty criminals. Nothing good ever comes out of working with amateurs.” The man’s voice is smooth, almost _erotic_. His tone is smooth like molasses and something darker, more wicked. He can’t pinpoint what it is. A small foot digs into his ribs (the not broken ones) and kicks him so he’s lying on his back and looking up at the man.

He instantly recognizes him. He could never forget that damned dragon.

“You’re SHAD0W.” It isn’t a question. He’s Sicheng’s right hand man and the most elite assassin his team has ever had to deal with. They’ve been fortunate enough to never cross paths with him during one on one combat, but the reputation this small man holds is widely known, and special precautions were taken when they heard Sicheng had recruited him.

A maniacal grin is the only response he gets.

Another groan somewhere in the corner echoes through the room. SHAD0W looks to the corner with a slight pout. Jaemin finds him repulsively gorgeous, but he knows how much blood is on the short man’s hands. More blood than Jaemin has ever seen in his entire career.

“Don’t give me that look! He was being annoying. I was just trying to take care of a simple problem before it manifested into something worse and Winnie got involved. You know how much he hates having to come down here.” SHAD0W is still standing over him, but Jaemin’s presence seems to have become an afterthought. Jaemin moves—achingly slow, using his heel to gently push himself out from under the short legs. The man above him notices in an instant, reflexes so fast Jaemin is sure even his brother would struggle fighting against the assassin.

A dagger is slammed into his bicep, ripping a shriek from his raw throat. SHAD0W steps around and kneels at Jaemin’s side, a pleasant grin still adorning his devilish face.

“At least you tired,” SHAD0W chirps. 

“Alright, alright. You’ve had your fun, just leave him and let these extras take care of him. Also, would you save that damned nickname for the bedroom? No one wants to know what you call the boss during sex.” A heavy accent is the first thing Jaemin notices. Chinese. The man SHAD0W was talking to earlier now stands beside him, looking down at Jaemin’s pained expression with bored eyes. The stranger has dagger-sharp brows, a small face, and a chiseled jaw. Another handsome one. He looks young, maybe a few years younger than Jaemin. His platinum blond hair hangs around his face as he leans over Jaemin. He feels small with all of these people looming over him, watching him as if he were a gazelle thrown into a lion’s cage.

Another pout adorns SHAD0W’s face as he turns to look at his partner. “You’re such a drag, you know that Jun?” SHAD0W switches to Mandarin rather than the Korean he was speaking for what he can only assume was his sake. Fortunately, Jaemin knows the language. Jaemin’s heart pangs at the familiar nickname that leaves the small man’s lips.

“Bite me. Now get your ass up. Sicheng is asking for you. He wants you to take the rookies out to stockpile on food. The lackeys are getting sick of canned beans and sausage. Selfish bastards.”

SHAD0W giggles. It sounds sadistic and not at all warm. Dangerous, like the smoldering embers of a campfire that still have the power to start a forest fire. Jaemin feels like he’s going to throw up. 

“Strong followers make a strong leader, Dejun. You were once a lackey, my dear.” He brings a small hand up to cup ‘Dejun’s’ face. Dejun scoffs away from the touch, but his ears are red. This is the most entertainment Jaemin has had in twenty-seven days.

“Shut the hell up and get a move on. You know better than anyone how little patience the boss has.”

“That I do,” SHAD0W sighs dreamily before looking down at Jaemin and waving goodbye, as if it’s normal to see a man with a dagger sunk into his shoulder, blood pooling around his body. He turns toward Dejun, a lazy smirk on his face. “You really need to watch that mouth of yours. Your lack of respect for your elders is gonna end with a bullet in your head.” The assassin slaps Dejun on the butt, earning him an infuriated growl, before skipping out of the room with a wicked cackle.

When the heavy door scrapes shut, Dejun kneels at Jaemin’s side, gray eyes piercing straight through Jaemin’s head. He wants to move, get as far away from this man as possible, but the burn in his bicep has paralyzed his entire body. Dejun reaches a hand towards him and Jaemin finds himself flinching against his will. It seems his stoic determination was replaced by the true fear burning deep within him the minute the dagger pierced his skin.

Dejun sighs. It’s so quiet Jaemin wonders if he’s hallucinating. Now that the man is right above him, he can see his sagging face a bit more clearly. He’s young, much younger than Jaemin had originally thought (he can’t be any older than seventeen), but his face looks heavy with sorrow and exhaustion. Jaemin recognizes the darkness in his eyes. He looks like the children that have been subjected to far too much trauma and hardship, the ones Jaemin has spent his entire career rescuing, the ones that sit in bright interrogation rooms. He looks like a child that’s been stripped completely of his innocence. His eyes are dull like gravestones, like a thundering sky. Now that he’s able to see his face, Jaemin can see there’s a world of a difference between this _boy_ , and Sicheng and SHAD0W. This boy did not choose this life.

Jaemin’s thoughts are cut off when he feels the searing pain of the blade being pulled from his arm. Dejun continues to remove the dagger with a blank expression, face completely still despite Jaemin’s labored breaths and grimace. He pulls something white from his pocket, a bandage, and ties it painfully tight around his upper arm, right near his armpit.

“That should keep you from dying,” Dejun huffs as he stands. His voice is deep but monotone—perpetually bored. He looks down at Jaemin’s pinched face—curled in on himself—with concerning indifference. He’s young, but he still sends a shiver down Jaemin’s spine.

“Get this place cleaned up before the higher-ups hold their meeting, or I’ll shoot you all,” Dejun says this with absolute affirmation. He is not joking in the slightest.

“Yes sir!” The small group of underlings that have gathered sometime during SHAD0W’s departure shout in unison and bow at the boy as the heavy door is slid open and shut.

Jaemin’s vision is starting to cloud around the edges, inevitably from the blood loss. He can barely make out the shapes of three heads looking down at him, and he barely registers the feeling of himself being dragged to what he can only assume is his holding cell. He’s tossed unceremoniously into the room he’s been locked in for the past twenty-seven days, immediately curling into himself on the cold cement floor.

“It’s your turn to cuff him,” one of the men whisper-shouts. It’s too loud. Jaemin’s head is throbbing as it always does after these _“interrogations”_.

“Hell no! Make the newbie do it!”

Jaemin hears a small squeak, and if he had the energy, he’d be smirking to himself. He hears some more chatter and bickering before the tap of shoes on cement echoes through his room. His room looks exactly like the cells Jaemin and his team lock criminals in. There are no windows or furniture, just a room of gray cemented walls and floors. There’s a single toilet in the corner of the room and one tattered blanket. A thick pipe pokes up from the floor, and connected to it is a heavy chain, where Jaemin’s handcuffs lie.

A man approaches him with fear written all over his face, and that gets Jaemin to sit up. A sharp pain shoots through his abdomen, but he ignores it in favor of scowling. 

“Don’t make this difficult, bastard,” the man spits at him and reaches over to grab the cuffs. Jaemin catches sight of something holstered in the man’s belt. A phone.

Jaemin pounces at the man in front of him, eliciting a shocked gurgle of expletives. He throws heavy fists into the man’s jaw and torso and every movement feels like it’s going to be his last. Everything feels too heavy. He’s so tired. He knows that this is his last chance. No matter how hard he’s trained for situations like this, the human body can only handle so much before it shuts down. Even if his body could keep going, his mind has reached its limit. Sicheng broke him weeks ago.

“You fucker!” More men flood into his room and jump on top of him. Jaemin can’t tell whose fists and feet belong to who, all he knows is he’s being pummeled into the ground. A bone-rattling kick is aimed straight at his face, and the last thing he remembers is the cool plastic of a phone slipping into the waistband of his pants, and then everything goes black.

⊹

“Agent Na!” A panicked voice jolts Yuta out of his restless sleep. The door to his dorm is wide open and the blinding light from the hallway makes him squint. He can only make out the large silhouette of whoever decided it was a good idea to wake him in his groggy stupor.

“What the hell? You got a death wish—?” Yuta’s question is abruptly interrupted, and he scowls in irritation, until the agent in his doorway speaks.

“We got it. Renjun and Yangyang, they… they found Jaemin’s location.”

Yuta is sprinting up the stairs to the roof within ten minutes. He would’ve been here ten minutes ago, but he needed time to pull on his boots, grab his equipment, and go over the details with Renjun and Taeyong. The large blades secured to his back are a grounding presence. The blood is rushing in his ears and his breathing has quickened as he continues to dash up the stairs three at a time.

“Agent Nakamoto, please slow down!” A group of agents are stampeding behind him, trying to keep up with Yuta’s swift, catlike gait. He can’t hear them over his racing thoughts and hammering heartbeat.

“Hyung!” The familiar voice cuts through the storm inside his brain like a slice from his katanas. Yuta skids to a halt once he reaches the door to the roof and looks over the railing at the agents still climbing their way up. One boy is ahead of the group, the one that called out to him. It’s Jeno.

Jeno climbs those last few steps and stops in front of him. Yuta is shaking, and he only knows this because Jeno clasps his steady hands over his own. For a split second, Yuta sees a lanky kid with a wrinkled school uniform, shaggy hair, thin wire glasses and braces, and the same ever-present eye smile that continues to grace his presence to this day.

“Hyung, you need to breathe,” Jeno’s voice is much deeper than it used to be, back when they would ride their bikes through their quiet neighborhood without a care in the world, Jaemin right by their side. Oh how times have changed. Jeno continues his words in Japanese, Yuta and Jaemin’s first language. “You will be useless to him if you show up like this. You must remain calm, if not for all of these agents following right behind you, then for him.” 

Jeno steps to the side to reveal the large group of agents waiting patiently, hands holding various weapons close, eyes firm with determination. They all wear the standard uniform of field agents: black cargo pants with thick knee pads, skin tight nylon shirts with various layers atop them such as bomber jackets and hoodies, and a heavy vest. They each have the scarlet-threaded hawk crest sewn into their clothing—a sign of bravery, protection, valor and honor.

The sight of these agents, _Yuta’s agents_ , makes something warm ignite within his chest. The heavy darkness that seemed to have been permanently residing inside of him for the past month is quickly burned by a wildfire that spreads white-hot resolve through his veins and straight into his blazing heart. This is _his_ unit, they follow _his_ orders, they’re putting their lives in _his_ hands. The pressure of it all is intoxicating. He craves the stress of it like he craves a fireplace in the dead of winter, a blasting AirCon in the middle of summer. He burns his brightest when he has the support of his team. The weight on his shoulders makes a feral grin spread across his face, white teeth gleaming under the fluorescent lights in the stairwell.

Jeno smiles at him. It’s less crescent-moon closed eyes and scrunched nose and more quirked lip and green eyes shining like Yuta’s favorite bottle of soju. He raises his fist and scrunches his brows, smiling wide. Yuta reciprocates the gesture and they bump fists before the younger agent steps off to the side again so Yuta can face the other agents in the stairwell.

“Listen up, kids!” Yuta shouts, voice echoing off the concrete walls. Some of the agents snicker at the name, Yuta isn’t as old as he pretends to be. However, in recent years, the number of young rookie agents coming into the agency has vastly outnumbered the amount of veteran agents still going out in the field, so the somewhat patronizing nickname isn’t necessarily coming from a place of superiority. “As long as you follow my orders and work together, we’ll return home with zero casualties and a hell of a lot of paperwork. Special Agent Huang should’ve briefed you all beforehand. I know this is sudden, and for some of you, this is your first official mission. But I trust you all, and I hope you can put your trust in me.” Yuta gives his agents the most confident and reassuring smile he can muster despite his twisting stomach and trembling hands.

“Fighting!” Yuta cries, and the agents chant back. Yuta turns on his heels and pushes the door to the roof open, shouting commands and assigning different groups to each of the helicopters and aircrafts powered up and waiting.

All of the agents in Yuta’s helicopter take their seats, clutching their weapons against their chests. There are seven of them, four of which Yuta recognizes and knows can handle themselves, but he’s also been assigned three of the newest rookies, which only makes sense considering his high rank. 

One of the rookies looks particularly young. He’s lanky and thin but his cheeks are rounded and puffed. One of his hands is stroking his left sideburn and the other is buried in the thick black fur of the dog sitting obediently at his feet. Yuta’s lip quirks in what he hopes is a comforting smile as he walks over and kneels in front of him. He’s seen this boy in passing and remembers his rather impressive stats during his latest meeting with the other supervisory agents. Johnny had spent a good portion of the meeting bragging about his special little sharp shooter, and even Renjun couldn’t deny the talent the boy had in cyber security.

“Agent Park,” Yuta shouts over the loud whirring of the helicopter taking off. 

Jisung’s wide eyes snap up to Yuta, shocked to see the legendary Agent Nakamoto addressing him directly. Yuta lets out an ugly snort at his bewildered expression.

“Yes sir?” Jisung asks, body rigid. His voice is easily overpowered by the whipping of helicopter blades in the air, but Yuta’s acute hearing is in his favor.

“Weapon of choice?” Yuta shouts back.

“A PSG1, sir.”

Yuta leans back on his heels, impressed. “Not bad, kid. When we land, I’m gonna send you over to Special Agent Lee’s team. To my knowledge, you’ve been training alongside him and Director Suh for a while. I’m sure you’d benefit more from this mission if you’re working alongside one of our head sharpshooters. I’m afraid I only excel at swordsmanship and hand to hand combat, which from what I’ve gathered, is not your strong suit.”

“But sir, your marksmanship is legendary among the rookies! Director Suh tells us all about your skills during training!”

Yuta scowls. _Dammit Johnny! How many times does he have to tell that walking tree to stop giving him a reputation he no longer has..._

“That’s not me anymore, kid. I only use blades. You’ll be of more use if you’re with Jeno.”

Jisung nods solemnly. He desperately wanted a chance to see Yuta in combat before he graduated from his training and spent all of his time behind a computer working in the cyber security and intelligence unit with Renjun screaming into his ear.

Yuta stands and ruffles his hair before walking over to the door of the helicopter and grabbing onto the handle hanging above his head.

_“Landing in thirty seconds,”_ Renjun’s voice announces into his ear. Yuta relays the information to his team.

“Alright kittens!” Yuta hollers over the sound of their rapid descent. “Remember, we’re dealing with a criminal organization! They have a dangerous leader, and they know what they’re doing. A single second you’re not on your toes is plenty of time for them to shoot you where you stand. Underestimating them could very well cost us not only the mission, but your lives. Everybody stick with your dancing partners, and let’s go rescue Agent Na.”

The helicopter lands and Yuta motions them out. His agents rush out of the large aircraft and quickly merge with the other groups of agents exiting their own vehicles. Black SUVs and trucks skid to a halt on the outer perimeter of what appears to be an abandoned factory hidden behind tall heads of wheat. Dozens of agents now stand, weapons drawn, awaiting a command from one of the Supervisory Special Agents.

Yuta holds up a fist and all movement ceases. He catches Jeno’s gaze from far across the wheat field, where the younger SSA is concealed by the golden grains, his sniper rifle perched on its stand. He gives him a nod of affirmation.

“Renjun, talk to me,” Yuta says in a hushed tone, one hand coming behind to wrap around the handle of his blade, ready to unsheath it at the slightest sign of danger.

_“This is definitely the place. Hold on, I’m sending in the drones.”_ A couple seconds later, the light buzzing of the drones attached to his belt cuts through the frozen night air. Thankfully it isn’t snowing, but the bone-deep chill that runs through the air warrants it.

The drones—each one no larger than a hockey puck thanks to Renjun’s incredibly innovative brain—blend in with the black sky, making them nearly undetectable if not for their gentle hum.

_“Thirty of them. No more, no less. They’re waiting for us to make the first move,”_ Renjun speaks after a painful two minutes.

“And Jaemin?” 

_“Yuta, I can’t see what they look like. But if there are this many, they’re definitely protecting something._ ”

Yuta doesn’t know how to respond. He’s alway hated uncertainty, and the fact that the unknown might cost his little brother’s life makes something unfamiliar unfurl deep within his chest and settle low in his stomach.

_“Jaemin is the one that sent the location. Trust me. He’s here.”_

“I’ve always trusted you,” Yuta mumbles more to himself than anything. It doesn’t need to be said, especially not between him and Renjun, but the pressure of this mission is unlike anything he’s ever felt before, so the sentiment escapes without a second thought.

Yuta closes his eyes. He works best when his vision is completely absent, a result of brutal and intensive training after he’d gone blind in his left eye. His mind and body have learned to survive and fight in that plane of nothingness. It’s not dark or blurry, it’s blank. In this blankness, Yuta feels in control.

He inhales deeply, chest rising. A soft gust of wind rustles the wheat spikes around him, and the earthy, vaguely sweet scent invades his nose. His ear twitches when he hears the faintest of _clicks_ , and his body moves of its own accord.

He launches himself onto one of the rookie agents standing behind him, and the bang of a gunshot erupts in the silence of night. He groans when he feels the bullet make contact with his back, but his vest is thick enough to keep it from causing any serious damage. He’ll probably have a sore shoulder in the morning, but it's nothing he hasn't dealt with before.

The agents around him are in a frenzy, everyone raising their weapons and whipping their heads around, trying to find where the shot had come from. A few people shout at him, ask him for directions, try to confirm that he's okay, but Yuta has one thing on his mind. He’s most alert when the resolve of those around him starts to crumble.

“Jeno!” Yuta roars over the frantic chatter, and Jeno responds within an instant. They’ve always been on the same level of attentiveness when it comes to situations like these, where it feels as if they’re the only ones keeping their composure.

“I got it!” Jeno exclaims into his earpiece, but his voice is so loud Yuta can hear it from across the field. Jeno barely finishes his sentence before another crack of a gunshot rings through the air. It’s deeper and heavier than the gunshot from earlier, and it comes from Yuta’s side of the battlefield.

Jeno had shot whoever it was that made the first move. Yuta doesn't even know where Jeno’s bullet flew, but he knows better than anyone how refined Jeno’s skills are, so he doesn’t doubt his actions for a second.

_“They’re moving!”_ Renjun calls out, and the sound of fingers smashing into keyboards erupt in the background.

“Go, go, go!” Yuta bellows to the swarms of agents, streaks of black running and jumping and crawling toward the building.

And then all hell breaks loose.

The first unit barges through the heavy doors of the building and trickles in. Jeno’s group of snipers take their positions around the perimeter, bodies painfully still as they watch for any blindspots. Yuta surges forward with the first group, both hands coming up and behind and whipping the Katanas from their scabbards secured to his back. The weight of the swords makes him feel vehement and secure—he’ll never tire of seeing the way both moon and sunlight glint off the slightly curved edge of the blade, the soft neon green glow emanating from the handle and between his slender fingers. 

The factory is vast and his nose twitches at the musty scent. His stomach drops at the bitter twang of copper mixed in. He knows that smell far too well.

One of GH0ST’s men pounces at him while he’s observing his surroundings. He falls to the ground and swiftly makes a slash with his blade, his attacker crumpling to the floor. Something akin to satisfaction courses through his veins.

_Sicheng is making this too easy, it’s almost insulting,_ Yuta muses to himself.

From the corner of his eye he sees a small man, one of the agents fresh out of the academy, wriggling and huffing underneath a significantly larger individual. Yuta doesn’t even think twice when he flicks his wrist and a small dagger from the strap around his thigh flies through the air and buries itself into the abdomen of the larger man. It’s become a habit for his body to react like this. Using his blades is like breathing. He doesn’t need to think about it, doesn’t need to remind his chest to rise and fall and fill his lungs with oxygen, much like he doesn't need to tell his hands to move, doesn’t need to think about the angle at which he needs to slice to break skin. The young agent shoots him a panicked but appreciative glance, and Yuta nods before jumping to his feet and throwing himself at the first man he sees.

The chatter in his earpiece is a bit distracting, but he assumes it's either Jeno giving out orders or agents requesting backup, so he ignores it. The sound of his blades sinking into flesh used to be something that made his stomach churn with nausea, but now, it only adds to the adrenaline pumping in his heart. He’s looses count of how many men he sends to the ground, only focused on one thing, and that is finding his little brother.

He flips through the air to avoid a large swing of a metal pipe, landing in a crouched position. His kneepads scrape against the cement as he ducks, then slashes the stomach of another GH0ST minion. The clanging of the pipe hitting the ground is no louder than a pin drop compared to the blood rushing in his ears. Small flashes of light coming from the endless gunshots around him provide just enough light for him to see his surroundings.

A large group of men charge toward him, singling out the most skilled agent in the room. Yuta huffs a brown lock of hair out of his good eye and bends his knees, katanas outstretched on either side as he rushes forward. It’s a flurry of blood and blades and knives and Yuta comes close to being shot more times than he’d like to admit, but finally it ends with him taking gulps of air, trying to catch his breath as he wipes a splatter of blood from his cheek with the back of his hand.

A glint of moonlight in the farthest corner catches his eye. His eyes narrow as he tries to make out the faces of the people retreating from the building. 

When his pale yellow eyes meet liquid gold, he freezes.

He feels paralyzed. His limbs are heavy and it takes a great deal of effort not to drop his swords to the floor.

It seems the ever indifferent Sicheng is momentarily stunned as well. None of the agents in the room seem to notice or feel the suffocating tension now permeating through the air, all too busy shooting down the remnants of criminals or tending to one another.

His brain is screaming at him to attack, to close the distance between him and the man they’ve been after for over a year, to alert his team that GH0ST men are escaping with their leader, that their leader is actually at the scene, but his heart keeps him in place.

His heart allows Sicheng to escape.

The loud revving of engines and a few final gunshots echo off the walls, and just like that, the factory is filled with a deafening silence that leaves Yuta alone with his thoughts.

A small cry sends his thoughts scattering like leaves, and suddenly everything comes back to him, and he remembers his objective. A figure slumped in the corner of the large space curls in on themself, unlike the still (and probably unconscious or _dead_ ) bodies littering the floor.

“Onii-chan,” a hoarse voice chokes out.

Yuta feels like he’s been struck by lightning, a sudden electric charge jolting his heart to attention and causing his legs to move of their own accord.

A cacophony of shouts and warnings fill the factory, his agents telling him to be careful, to consider the possibility that it’s a trap, that it just doesn't make sense for GH0ST to leave Jaemin out in the open, to let him go without a fight.

All that matters to Yuta is that he holds his baby brother in his arms, and that he holds him _now_.

Jaemin pushes himself up with sheer willpower, his knees shaking violently, like a tree during a storm. “Jaemin!” Yuta dives toward him and catches him in his arms before the injured boy has a chance to hit the ground.

As he holds Jaemin in his arms, he sees the extent of his injuries. He can no longer make out the pale skin of his beloved brother, every inch of his body sullied by bruises and cuts and blood. What was once a beautiful and delicate canvas has now been stained by dark ink. Yuta wants nothing more than to wipe it away, erase what he can only assume is weeks of pain and suffering and inevitable years of trauma.

“I left him…” Jaemin’s voice is small. A breath of a voice. The heartache laced in every word brings tears to Yuta’s eyes.

The sound of footsteps behind them is distant. He assumes it’s Jeno and the rest of his squadron. He isn’t sure, but he doesn’t care about anything else except his brother.

“Who?” Yuta doesn't trust his voice, but he knows he can’t break down. He has to be there for Jaemin. He has to be the strong one for once.

“Donghyuck...I-I just left him all alone. I _promised_ him I would come back and we would get married, but I fucking left him!” Jaemim cries, voice choking on a sob. The tears streaming down his cheeks moisten the dried blood and turn his face into a mess of pink. His large brown eyes are shaking, glassy, shattered. He looks completely shattered.

Yuta pulls Jaemin’s face into his chest and cradles him, rocking him back and forth in a manner he hopes is calming. It’s similar to the way their mother used to hold them when they had a bad day at school, when they tripped and scraped their knees playing soccer. He lets his brother wail into his shoulder, barely feels the moisture seeping through his thin shirt. A few tears of his own fall, but Jaemin has always been the more vocal crier of the two. His brother lets out screams and pounds his broken fists into the cement floor, and Yuta knows the action is hurting him, can see the pain in the way his brows pinch together, but still, he lets him.

He kneels by Jaemin, one arm still wrapped around his convulsing, concerningly thin abdomen as Jaemin releases all of his pent up frustrations and sorrow in the form of bile. The smell doesn’t bother Yuta, in fact, he moves in closer to keep Jaemin from falling face first into a puddle of his own puke. The exhaustion has surely hit him by now, because his lids are slipping closed against his will and his body is losing all of its adrenaline-fueled strength.

When Jaemin crumples against him again, Yuta sweeps him up into his arms bridal style. He’s incredibly light, Yuta doesn’t even want to imagine what his brother had just gone through to lose so much of his hard-earned muscle mass. Jeno walks up to them, his jade eyes similar to seaglass with how green and shiny they are with unshed tears. He has always admired and envied Jeno’s rock hard resolve.

Jeno reaches a gloved hand up to wipe the tears still streaming down Yuta’s cheek. He cradles his face for a moment, the pad of his thumb swiping under the heavy eyebags and wiping a dried drop of blood from his soft skin. When he looks down at Jaemin, an expression so heart wrenching and distressed contorts his face. It seems the other agents standing silently are just as shocked to see their forever gentle and always-smiling supervisory agent with such a pained face.

“You are safe now,” Jeno whispers to the unconscious boy lying limp in Yuta’s arms. He presses the back of his hand against Jaemin’s burning forehead. A single tear manages to escape through the crack in Jeno’s solid facade. “You are home.”

⊹

The greeting he receives when he opens his eyes is a harsh one. The fluorescent light above his head is too bright, the low hum of voices and incessant ringing in his ears is too loud.

“You’re awake,” a soft voice speaks above him. Jaemin’s eyes come into focus and he’s greeted by a man with a large smile and even larger glasses.

Jaemin tries to sit up but grunts in frustration when he realizes his arms have been bandaged against his chest.

“Allow me to help you,” the man hums, pressing a button. The bed whirrs as it moves Jaemin into a sitting position. There are a lot more people in the room than Jaemin was expecting. It hurts him when he remembers, then realizes, that the face he will forever long to see will no longer be there.

“Hello, Agent Na. My name is Dr. Moon, I don’t believe we’ve met before.” Dr. Moon extends a hand to shake then quickly retracts, scratching at the back of his neck awkwardly. “I’m the director of the medical unit and the head surgeon here at the agency. I believe you are well acquainted with my husband?” 

Jaemin is about to open his mouth to give an answer he knows will come out as rude, when a deep voice interjects.

“Taeil,” Johnny steps into Jaemin’s line of sight. His suit jacket has been abandoned and the collar of his button up is loose, showing off his sharp collarbones. His thumbs are hooked into his belt where a slim handgun is strapped. “Get a move on, dear. I’m sure Jaemin wants to rest.”

Dr. Moon clicks his tongue. “You’re always interrupting me. Let me do my job, will you John?”

Jaemin puts two and two together. Huh. He didn’t know Johnny swung that way, let alone was a man of such strong commitment, but he supposes it makes sense. He always suspected Johnny’s chaste touches directed toward his older brother lingered a little _too long_ , even for a friendship as touchy as theirs.

Johnny rumbles a deep chuckle but steps back. Jaemin then realizes that all of the directors and SSA’s in his division are in the room. He feels heavy under the intense gazes.

Taeil continues on with his medical jargon, pulling some sheets from his chart and muttering diagnosis upon diagnosis. It all muddles into word vomit and Jaemin gets the gist of it.

He’s fucked up for a while, to put it simply. 

It turns out his bones are broken and his heart even more so. He could’ve put that together, Jaemin thinks curtly, if the burning ache in all of his limbs and the heaviness of his chest are anything to go by.

“Thankfully, my team and I were able to remove all shards of bone from your sternum, and your ribs didn’t puncture any major organs. Additionally, despite all of your major bones being broken, they were clean breaks. There is no permanent damage, and you’ll be able to use all of your extremedites again. It’ll just take some time and a lot of rehab. You’re still running a fever and are severely dehydrated and malnourished, but that’s what medication is for. You are very lucky, Agent Na. Very few come out of a traumatic event of such magnitude without lasting impairments.”

“Yeah, but his mental state is probably fucked for the rest of his life.” Jaemin could recognize Renjun’s blunt and sharp tongue even in the heart of a crowded city.

“Idiot! Have some sympathy!” Yukhei bonks Renjun on the head.

“You fucker! Get down here and face me like a real man!” Renjun scowls, fists raised. Yukhei’s booming laugh fills the room as he looks down at Renjun, the small man almost an entire foot shorter than him.

“Guys, please, settle down,” Jeno mutters timidly, hands waving in a calming gesture.

“Jeno, how many times must I tell you, if you want to be assertive you’ve gotta speak up!” Renjun shouts at his boyfriend before returning his attention to the chuckling giant beside him. Jeno makes a dejected face and his shoulders slump. Jaemin lip quirks ever so slightly. At least his friends can always make light of an otherwise shitty situation.

Taeyong holds up a pale hand, and all movement and sound ceases. Even the beeping machines by his head seem to halt at the interjection of the elegant man, which is actually mildly concerning now that Jaemin thinks about it.

His boss steps forward, perfectly shined shoes clicking against the tile. He removes his other hand from his pocket then places them at his side.

Taeyong bows, the sleeves of his expensive suit jacket hanging off his shoulders falling forward. His gelled blue hair doesn’t even move an inch.

Jaemin’s brows raise in panic, and if he could move his arms, his hands would be waving violently in front of him. Everyone in the room holds their breath, slack jawed and wide-eyed.

“S-sir, I—”

“I commend you, Agent Na. As the director and mission coordinator of this branch, it is my duty to ensure the safety of my agents and the success of all missions. I failed to do my job, and for that, I offer my deepest apologies.”

Jaemin is rendered speechless as his boss stays down at a perfect 90 degree angle. His throat has gone dry as the Sahara.

“Wow, his royal highness? Bowing for a lowly agent such as yourself? Someone take a picture, I don’t think I’m seeing clearly!”

Taeyong stands upright once again, shooting a dangerous glare at Jaemin’s chatty brother. 

“Ehehe…” Yuta claps his hands together in front of his face, bowing slightly and slinking back into the corner.

“I assure you, I will not let you down again. Get some rest,” Taeyong says, voice as refined and sophisticated as ever. His chin is tilted up, sharp nose and sharp jaw turned away from the boy in bed. When his large eyes filled with so much authority and strength soften ever so slightly, Jaemin is convinced the pain medication coursing through his veins is making him hallucinate.

“That’s an order,” Taeyong chides, but there’s no bite behind his words. It almost looks like he’s smirking, if that’s even possible.

Jaemin nods once and does his best bow, what with his position and his arms still secured against his chest. “Thank you, sir.”

“Renjun?” Taeyong looks over to the small agent who simply nods in response. “Clear out,” the boss commands, and the small crowd of directors and nurses trickle out of the room behind him.

Once the door hisses shut, only his brother and two closest friends are left.

They wait for a few minutes, the silence thick and bordering on suffocating. Jaemin is incredibly volatile right now. He isn’t sure whether he wants to sob or burst out laughing, so instead, he screams.

“Fuck!” He shouts so loud he’s sure the other patients in the ward heard it. Jeno flinches in the corner but quickly regains his composure.

“Now, now,” Yuta clicks his tongue and pushes off from where he was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. “Taeil said no exertion whatsoever. You need to save your energy for a swift recovery.” A few strands of hair have managed to slip out of his loose bun, but a thick bang hangs out and covers most of the scar running across the left side of his face.

Jaemin huffs and looks away, glaring at an innocent speck of dirt on the otherwise pristine white wall. For some odd reason, it makes him want to cry. The poor wall is dirtied by that single pesky speck. It’s truly unfair. He probably resembles the behavior of a temperamental teenager, but he’s _upset_ , and the feeling of despair is beginning to overwhelm him.

“We’ve been tracking every single one of GH0ST’s moves ever since we lost you. We’ve also been watching over Donghyuck, per Yuta’s request. Just making sure no one from GH0ST tried anything while you were in their hands,” Renjun informs him, effectively distracting him from his self-deprecating thoughts and dirty-wall-induced internal warfare. 

“How is he?” Jaemin mutters nearly inaudible, but he knows they heard him.

“Broken,” Renjun answers simply. There’s no use sugarcoating it or making it seem better than it is. It’s a terrible situation and they know it, Jaemin knows it. Hiding it only makes it worse in the end.

“A little harsh, Jun,” Yuta huffs.

“He deserves to know.”

“Thank you,” Jaemin mumbles, shifting uncomfortably under the sheets. They’re scratchy and smell like acidic lemon, nothing like the worn out fabric and warm cotton scent of his bedspread back home. _Their_ bedspread.

“We’ll let you rest,” Yuta hums out, coming forward to brush his fingertips across Jaemin’s cheek, thumb stroking just beneath the large bandage under his eye. “I love you, Jaemin.” Yuta nuzzles his nose into his hair, kissing the crown of his head.

“Mmm,” Jaemin replies, and it's more than enough. His brother gives him his favorite feline-esque grin, then punches the button for the door and capers out and down the hall.

“Well, I’ve got a long ass mission report to write thanks to you. I’ll be back to give you a summary later. It’s good to have you back,” Renjun offers him a rare smile, nothing more than an upturned lip, but for Renjun, it’s blinding. Suddenly, Renjun winces, and just like that the smile is gone. He presses his finger to the earpiece nestled in his ear and starts shouting out obscenities and scolding whoever the poor agent is on the receiving end of one of Renjun’s tirades. He slams his hand on the button and continues his chastising all the way down the corridor.

Jeno chuckles breathily at Jaemin’s grimace. He sits himself down on the end of the bed, legs outstretched in front of him.

“You’re definitely a masochist.” Jaemin shakes his head and feigns disappointment. Jeno laughs heartily. It’s a warm sound, like hot chocolate on Christmas morning, like a field of flowers during spring, like a hug from your mother. It’s almost enough to thaw the ice piercing Jaemin’s heart. _Almost _.__

__“Maybe so. You know… Renjun almost made himself sick with worry. I’ve never seen him so riddled with guilt before, Jaem. Never this bad. Yuta too. They both try to hide it, but the minute you turn your back on them, they break down.”_ _

__Jaemin leans back against his pillow, counting the holes in the ceiling to keep his tears from escaping. Jeno welcomes the silence, knowing all too well the storm roaring its way through his best friend’s mind._ _

__“You did what you had to do to keep him safe, Jaemin. If I was in your position, I would’ve done the same thing for Renjun in a heartbeat. Please don’t burden yourself with blame and guilt. No one could have prepared for that situation, but you dealt with it. He’s strong. He will be okay, and so will you.”_ _

__Jeno rests a gentle hand upon Jaemin’s thigh. He tilts his head to the side and his eyes close in a reassuring smile. The tears are heavy on Jaemin’s thick lashes._ _

__“Watch over him for me, okay? Yuta too. I know you have to get permission from the boss before you do any surveillance operations, but I can’t let anything happen to him. I’ll never forgive myself for hurting him the way I did, but if someone so much as lays a fingers on him, I’ll throw my life away to protect him.”_ _

__Jeno knows Jaemin is being a bit irrational and simply acting on his emotions, but he doesn’t fight it. Although they may express it differently, Jeno understands the raging fire ignited by undying passion and love. The look of pure determination on Jaemin’s face is enough to silence any of his characteristic “motherly advice”, for he is in no position to chastise him, and he is not Jaemin’s mother. Besides, he much prefers being his best friend, albeit a hovering one. He supposes that’s unavoidable, what with growing up beside a permanent firecracker of a boy and always being the most level-headed and maturer of the two._ _

__“Of course,” he croons before standing. “I promise we’ll take care of him. But for now, all _you_ need to do is focus on your recovery. There are still many people in this broken world that need you.”_ _

__

__It didn’t take long for Jaemin to come to the conclusion that recovery is far worse than the actual injuries. He dreads every second in the rehabilitation ward, longs to hold his guns and his daggers, craves the ache of a long spar session. The large scar across his abdomen hurts more often than not, but the heartache he feels is unlike any pain he’s ever felt._ _

__He was thrown into physical therapy and new diets and training regimens the minute Taeil deemed him stable enough to move. He hasn’t had the opportunity to stew over his thoughts, which is ultimately a good thing, but it also results in him snapping at those closest to him and giving some of the poor trainees and rookies premature heart attacks. When he was given permission to leave the medical floor, he was quick to return to his own dorm room to wallow in the darkness until nightfall._ _

__Jaemin pulls his hood over his head before grabbing his crutch and hobbling his way to the elevator. His phone buzzes just as the doors shut.__

> __  
> _**From: Onii-chan**_  
>  _**Received: 8:17pm**__ _
> 
> ____
> 
> ____
> 
> _he’s home safe n sound \\(^ヮ^)/_
> 
> _**You**_  
>  _**8:17pm**_
> 
> _thank you brother_
> 
> _**From: Onii-chan** _
> 
> _why so formal (╥﹏╥)_
> 
> _**You** _
> 
> _i’m not being formal, idiot_  
>  _this is text. u cannot express tone of voice thru text_
> 
> _**From: Onii-chan** _
> 
> _you’re lucky you’re injured, you sarcastic little shit_  
>  _(҂` ﾛ ´)凸_
> 
> _**You** _
> 
> _(^_ <)〜☆_  
> 

_  
_Jaemin breathes a laugh through his nose then pockets the phone. He appreciates his happy-go-lucky brother, especially during times like these. It gives him some semblance of familiarity, a constant in his whirlwind of a life._   
_

__The elevator doors open to a dark hall and Jaemin takes his usual right turn, not even bothering to turn on a light when he enters a black room. He leans his crutch against the wall-to-wall length desk before him then plops down in the large leather chair. He uses his right hand (the hand that isn’t bandaged in a cast) to turn on the hologram keyboard, types in the password, then clicks his way through the security system until he’s staring at four wide screens displaying live camera footage from four different angles._ _

__His heart twinges as it always does when he sees Donghyuck shuffle into their apartment. He removes his shoes and shrugs off his coat, throwing his bag and keys in the general direction of the coffee table._ _

__Jaemin knows what comes next, and his desire to reach through the screen has never been stronger._ _

__Donghyuck grabs the half-empty bottle of soju that he’d left on the floor near the couch last night and quickly takes a long gulp. He flops face down onto the couch and lies there for a few seconds before turning on his side to take another swig of alcohol._ _

__He was never much of a drinker. He’d have a glass of wine if they went to a fancy restaurant and a beer if they went to a party or gathering, but it was never a daily occurence. The strongest drink they kept in their home was a couple bottles of soju and sake (mostly for when Yuta would come over) and a bottle of champagne that simply collected dust._ _

__For once, Jaemin is thankful the surveillance system doesn’t pick up audio. He isn’t sure he’d be able to hold back if he could actually hear Donghyuck’s sobs. Not that watching him cry made things easier, but if he could actually _hear_ the pain he’s caused, he’d limp his way down and out of the building and force his way into their apartment and hold Donghyuck. Fuck protocol, fuck the risk, fuck it all._ _

__Donghyuck finishes off the bottle and curls into himself, pulling his knees to his chest. Jaemin watches in despair as his small frame begins to shake violently. He can hear the sobs in his ears, hears the way he chokes on his voice and gasps for breath. It’s not a sound Jaemin ever wants to hear, but it’s also a sound he will never forget._ _

__Soon enough, Jaemin is weeping silently to the sight of his boyfriend unknowingly breaking down before his eyes._ _

___You did this to him. You hurt him so badly he broke. You broke him._ _ _

__Not for the first time, he questions his choices. Wonders if leaving him was truly the best option. If he wasn’t so weak, he wouldn’t have gotten caught up in Sicheng’s web. He can’t believe he let Donghyuck become such an easy target. He should’ve been more honest and open about his job. He was so stupid, convincing himself that for Donghyuck, ignorance truly would be bliss._ _

___Look how damn happy he is now,_ Jaemin mentally berates himself._ _

__Donghyuck pulls the tattered throw blanket over himself. Jaemin can barely make out his features in the fuzzy grain of the screen and the darkness of the room, but the shake of his shoulders shows that he’s still crying. Jaemin rests his forehead on his good arm (for whatever reason, this one healed faster) and watches as his boyfriend slowly begins to still. Now in place of violent heaving and crying is the gentle rise of his chest as he sleeps, tears drying. The shame and regret Jaemin feels materializes in the form of a small whimper that slips past his chapped lips._ _

__Jaemin begins to nod off to the sight of his finally peaceful lover. His heart feels heavier than an anchor, his eyes burn from endless nights of crying, and the overall position he’s in is not comfortable, but it must pale in comparison to the pain Donghyuck is feeling, so he ignores it in favor of sleeping beside his fiancé._ _

__A screen separates them, and that fact alone is enough to spring fresh tears to Jaemin’s red eyes, but he finally allows his restless body to fall into a fitful sleep._ _

__He dreams of oranges and sunshine and caramel skin. He dreams of safety, of warm hugs and even warmer laughter. He dreams of Donghyuck.  
_ _

⊹

Renjun digs the heel of his palm into his eye then readjusts his thin-framed glasses. His steps are heavy with exhaustion and he can feel the dreaded approach of a massive migraine. Jeno had texted him thirty minutes prior to come to bed, and even went so far as to send a string of threatening emojis to show that he was _serious_.

He turns the corner and scrunches his nose up when he notices the door at the end of the hall is slightly ajar. Normally, all surveillance is done from the agency-issued laptops and tablets. The surveillance room is more of a formality than anything else. Renjun pulls on the white collar of the shirt beneath his cream sweater before marching toward the room. 

The first thing he notices are the bright screens playing live footage. Then he sees a figure slumped over on the desk, and his heart squeezes in his chest.

Jeno and Yuta had told him about this two weeks ago, when it all began. When Jaemin had been released from the medical ward, when Jaemin finally had access to all of the information following their latest mission. He had only seen the man twice since he last visited him in the hospital to give an update on Donghyuck, and their last encounter was not a pleasant one. It was late, they were both stressed and tired, and Jaemin was using a tone with him that would easily irritate someone with such a bad-temper like himself. Fortunately, Jeno was there to break things up and help cool them down, but Jaemin still stomped away (more like hobbled away—his leg is still broken) like a child who’d just been sent to timeout. 

Jaemin no longer wears the scowl that’s been tarnishing his face as of late. Before everything went to shit, Jaemin was much like Jeno—always gentle, always approachable, and never quick to act on his emotions. The fact that the man he’d known and worked alongside for years could do a full 180 in such a short amount of time gave Renjun whiplash.

Thankfully, Jaemin is not snapping at him. In fact, he’s not even awake. His brows are still pinched and he looks like he’s in pain, but his lips are softened into a line. His face is squished into the desk and his hair is a mess (it’s getting way too long), but he’s calm. They always say you look younger when you’re asleep, and Jaemin is no exception. Renjun can finally see the pure, childish nature Jaemin only shows when he’s overtly content and carefree. It’s disheartening to know that Jaemin has felt nothing but sorrow for the past month and a half. In their line of work, your world could get tipped upside down at the drop of a hat.

Jaemin’s fist clenches on the desk the same time he lets out a small whimper. The darkness clouding his thoughts is evident on his face. Renjun could recognize the expression anywhere—on his own face, on Jeno’s, on Yuta’s. They’re all fucked up at this point and have long ago accepted that peace will never fully come to them, not even in their subconscious state of rest. It doesn’t make the pain of it in the moment any less harmful, any less real. 

Renjun tiptoes forward and rests his small hand on the back of Jaemin’s head, slowly digging his nimble fingers into his friend’s long hair. He strokes Jaemin gently, hopefully alleviating some of the mental strain, and he breathes out a sigh of relief as Jaemin’s pinched brows slowly begin to relax. He should probably wake the man up and send him to his room, but if Jaemin chose to fall asleep here with the comfort of knowing Donghyuck was sleeping too, then he would not be the one to ruin that for them. He’d already felt so much shame and guilt when he had to inform Donghyuck of his fiancé’s death, per his _fiancé’s_ request.

When Jaemin’s breathing returns to its normal, deep, sleep-ridden rhythm, Renjun pulls away and slips into the hall. He opens one of the large supply closets and ruffles about its contents before grabbing what he needs and re-entering the room. He drapes the large knit blanket over Jaemin’s sleeping form and pushes the desk chair in a bit so Jaemin isn’t rudely awakened by his arms slipping off the desk. He lowers the brightness on the screens so they’re not so blinding, gives his friend a final stroke on his shoulder, then leaves the room to join his boyfriend in bed.

⊹

Jaemin realizes that he’s been a bit unreasonable as of late. He’s treating his friends and coworkers unfairly, he isn’t taking care of himself properly, and his health has only deteriorated since his rescue. But Jaemin has also come to the realization that he does not care.

Not when he’s sitting here, eyes swollen and burning from the seemingly bottomless reservoir of tears, and watching the love of his life throw his life away.

Donghyuck’s figure is a bit blurred through the screen, but it’s enough for Jaemin. It’s enough. He’s on his knees, body slumped, in the middle of their living room, bottle of hard liquor in hand. He’s shaking as he cries, and while Jaemin’s heart aches at the sight, he’s comforted to know he’s not the only one wringing themselves dry with sobs. His hair is getting long and Jaemin knows he probably isn’t taking care of himself either. The strands hang down as he keels over and grips at his stomach. His only interruption is when he takes a long swig from the bottle, then returns to his curled position as more cries break through his fragile heart. Donghyuck repeats this cycle over and over, and all Jaemin can do is watch the scene unfold before him.

It’d be so much easier for Jaemin to just give up, to let it all go, to return to his lovers side. Rules and risk and secrecy be damned. But of course, this is the unreasonable, the _irrational_ side of Jaemin talking. And unfortunately, Jaemin cannot make life-changing decisions with this part of him, or he’d have himself and those around himself killed from his own idiotic impulses. And no matter the pain and self-hatred he feels so deeply within himself that it’s physically debilitating, he will never allow that to happen.

No matter how much he longs, he _aches_ to do so.

These past couple months have been nothing but self-loathing and suffocating guilt. But at the end of the day, he must remind himself that _yes_ , this was the _only_ option. This alternative—Donghyuck, broken and hopeless and impossibly drunk Donghyuck is the better alternative to what could’ve been.

The image of Donghyuck in a peaceful sleep with a red dot pointed to his head plagues Jaemin’s thoughts every lonesome night. Had Jaemin hesitated for a split second, made a wrong move or said the wrong thing, that red dot would’ve sealed Donghyuck’s fate. That is the curse of loving someone as dangerous as Jaemin. If only Donghyuck knew of the risks before signing his life away. Jaemin will never forgive himself for putting him in such a position, such a vulnerable, unenlightened position.

Three soft knocks send his thoughts away like a flock of birds.

“Jaemin?” Jeno’s gentle voice hums into the silence. Jaemin turns his chair toward the door just a bit, enough for Jeno to know he’s been acknowledged. Jeno allows himself in after the subtle invitation inside.

“Is he drinking again?” Jeno wonders solemnly as he walks up behind the chair and watches Donghyuck breakdown on screen. He doesn’t really need to answer, the image in front of them is answer enough, but he nods nonetheless.

Jeno lets out a sigh of sympathy and clasps his good shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. “Jaemin…” Jeno starts slowly, and Jaemin can already tell he’s going to be told something he doesn’t want to hear. “He’s going to be okay. He’s strong. You don’t have to watch him like this every night, it isn’t right.”

Jaemin curls his fists until the knuckles turn white. He takes a deep breath, and then another, before speaking in a strained tone.

“I left him, Jeno. I left him alone after I promised him I would come back. Look at the damn screen, I did this to him! I am the reason he’s so distraught!” Jaemin cries, looking up at Jeno with shaking eyes. His chest burns from holding back his sobs. “It’s all my fault, he never deserved any of this! He never deserved me! God, just look at him. I’ve ruined his—!”

“Enough!” Jeno shouts, and Jaemin freezes in his seat. A shiver runs down his spine at the sight of Jeno’s brows pinched together, a large scowl on his face. It looks so terribly _wrong_ on him.

Jeno yanks the chair away from the desk so Jaemin can face him completely. He keeps one arm on the backrest, caging one side of Jaemin’s head. “You saved his life, Jaemin! You saved his life, and that’s all anyone could ever ask for. You can’t keep beating yourself up like this! Everything you did, you did it for him. This isn’t _easy_ , Jaemin, I know that. The pain you’re feeling is so real and I _wish_ from the bottom of my heart that I could take it away. But I can’t! Donghyuck lost someone, but you know what? You lost someone too! You’ve lost yourself!”

Both of Jeno’s arms are on the chair now, and as he leans down into Jaemin’s space, the latter’s wide eyes grow even larger. Jeno’s face softens marginally as he realizes what he’s just said and the unintentional volume of his voice. The shocked look on Jaemin’s face makes Jeno’s frown downturn further, then all at once, that fire in his emerald eyes returns.

“But I’m sick of this constant pity party! You are not _alone_ , Jaemin! Let us help you! Please! We are your team, we are here to support you in any way you need! But we can’t help you if you abandon us first.”

Jaemin shoots up from the chair and harshly grips Jeno by the collar. He pulls his best friend close with a rough tug, blood boiling and jaw clenched so hard it hurts.

“I can handle it by myself, dammit! I don’t need anyone else to do this, I can’t trust him with you guys anymore! This is too important!”

In an instant, Jaemin realizes how grave of a mistake he’s just made. The genuine hurt that flashes across Jeno’s face almost makes him drop to his knees in an apology, but he holds his ground because he’s nothing if not stubborn. The damage has already been done, so there’s no use going back on his words now. The worst part of it all is that somewhere deep down, he meant what he said.

Jeno pushes him away a bit harder than he probably intended, and Jaemin stumbles back until his knees hit the desk and he’s half sitting half standing. “How dare you. _How dare you!_ ” Jeno roars in a tone louder and more passionate than Jaemin has ever heard in their over sixteen years of friendship. He goes slack jawed at the disconcernment of it. His best friend marches forward and twists his hands into his collar, just like Jaemin had done to him only a few seconds ago. “We are not your enemy! You act like you’re the only one that’s lost someone! The only one that’s ever had to make a sacrifice! Open your eyes, Jaemin! We’re living in a world of despair and danger and surrender! Every moment of our lives is filled with sacrifice, and if you can’t handle that, then you need to get the fuck out of this place!”

The cursing, the yelling, the scowl—it’s all so foreign. It’s completely out of place and never associated with the boy made of unadulterated compassion and warmth and eyes as gentle as a mother’s caress. The tears spilling from Jeno’s eyes are also unfamiliar and so incredibly rare. When he speaks again, his voice has lowered octaves but it sounds raw and broken.

“I love you with all my heart, and I will follow you to the ends of the earth, and I am _so_ terribly sorry that this happened to you, Jaemin. Neither of you deserved this, but you play the best game you can with the cards you’ve been dealt. These are your cards, Jaemin, whether you like it or not. So please, just wake up. You sitting here, crying and obsessing over his every move, watching everything he does—whether you believe so or not, you’re not giving him or _yourself_ the closure you both deserve! As difficult as it is, Jaemin, you need to be at peace with the choices you’ve made. You can’t turn back time, but you also can’t spend the rest of your life resenting yourself for what you did.”

Jeno releases his unforgiving grip on Jaemin’s shirt in favor of swiping away the tears that had unknowingly slipped down Jaemin’s cheeks. Those green eyes have gone soft again and Jaemin feels the need to look away from their powerful presence. After a few seconds of shared sniffles and mingled breaths, Jeno steals his gaze and holds Jaemin’s face between his hands. He forces the shorter man to look at him before he continues.

“I love you, but I will not support you in your own self destruction. I desperately wish things were different, but this is not a job where things come easy. You did what you fucking had to, now get your head out of your ass, and _do something about it_. If you want Donghyuck back, then you do every damn thing you need to do to get him back. But you do it the right way, under protocol, with your team. I will not allow the rest of my team, my _family_ , to risk their lives by walking into your crossfire. We’ve all lost someone. We’ve all felt the pain. We’ve all mourned and grieved. But every second that you sit here on your ass wallowing in your own self-pity is a second one of my friends loses years off their life. We work as a team, or we don’t work at all. You lost someone, but at least _you_ have a chance to get them back.”

Jeno pulls away from him, and despite the thick tears dripping from his face, Jaemin can both see and _feel_ the absolute certainty of Jeno’s words. He feels as if he’s just been slapped in the face and the stinging pain is spreading into a warmth that sinks through his skin and into his bloodstream, leading straight to his hammering heart. He’s rendered completely speechless, frozen in place, hands numb from gripping the edges of the desk so tight, and face wet with tears.

Jeno looks down at his boots, and after a beat of silence, those eyes are back on him, harder than they’ve ever looked before. 

“When you decide you want help, come find me.”

The door is slammed shut, and Jaemin is left alone in the silence with his deafening thoughts, the last wisps of the bitter truth of their conversation permeating through the air. He takes a gulp of air, he doesn’t even remember when he stopped breathing. As the weight of it all hits him, he finds it hard to stand, so he doesn’t. His knees hit the floor and he crumples on all fours, and maybe that was a mistake because his legs are just freshly healed and it aches a bit, but not as much as his heart.

And as much as the truth and reality hurts Jaemin, he knows this is what he needed. He knows he can’t go on like this, and deep down, beneath the surface-level bitterness and heartbreak, he knows Jeno is right.

He has to make a change, and he can’t do it alone. He has to get Donghyuck back.

⊹

**NINE MONTHS LATER…**

The cold, while bitter, is nothing more than an inconvenience. Jaemin is used to working in harsh conditions, and the new set of winter gear Renjun had recently developed is quite effective against the numbing temperature. He’s pretty sure it’ll snow, but if all goes well, it won’t get in the way. As he leans against the ledge of a rooftop, an icy gust of wind cuts across his cheek and he pulls his hood over his head.

“Are you sure it’s happening tonight?” Jaemin huffs while tossing a dagger around in his hand.

_“Are you stupid? Of course it’s happening tonight. When have I ever given you the wrong information?”_ Renjun bites back before finishing his question with a loud crunch.

“You know, I really hate when you chew directly into my ear.”

Loud smacking noises through the earpiece is his only response. Jaemin breathes out a chuckle and a small cloud of smoke puffs out from his mouth. He stretches his arms above his head and bends back over the ledge slightly so he can look up at the sky. It’s a full moon tonight, and the clouds in the sky are brewing something fierce. Hopefully he can just get it done and over with. He doesn’t really fancy the idea of fighting in the middle of a snow storm.

_“I’m starting to regret letting you go out in the field tonight,”_ Renjun says. _“Jeno told me you had to stop your spar session with Jisung last night because your scar was giving you trouble. You should’ve told me that before I suited you up.”_

Jaemin places a hand over the scar just below his left rib. Although the surgery was over nine months ago, the scar does cause some discomfort at times. Not enough to render him useless like he once was, but it can be annoying when he’s trying to throw a punch. He shrugs, although Renjun can’t see him. “I’ll be fine.”

_“You always say that,”_ Jeno’s voice suddenly cuts in.

“Oh, hey Jen. What are you doing here?”

There’s a few seconds of muffled shouting and low giggles, some rummaging and ruffling, before Renjun answers for him. “He hasn’t left my side since the attack this morning. He’s getting paranoid, and it is not a good look for him.”

Jaemin clicks his tongue. He vividly remembers the panic that arose throughout the agency after GH0ST attacked them just that morning, when they were completely unguarded. They had just finished an emergency meeting and all the field agents were getting ready for their morning patrol. Jaemin was halfway out of the elevator when a loud bang sounded from outside the front doors, and he watched with wide eyes as Yukhei fell to the floor. Alarms went off, security systems kicked in, authorities were alerted, and Jaemin was quick to call Jeno back to the agency. He was out with Donghyuck at the time, but he trusted Jeno would end their meeting with as little suspicion as possible. What he hadn’t anticipated, however, was Jeno’s absolutely frantic and panicked state as he pushed his way past crowds of police and paramedics and bystanders. Jaemin probably should’ve told him it was Yukhei that got shot and Renjun was perfectly fine sitting up in his office, but it had completely slipped his mind during the frenzy of it all.

After Jaemin had reassured him once and then twice that _yes,_ Renjun was perfectly safe, his friend rushed up the stairs and out of sight. Jaemin pulled on his hood and mask and slipped out of the building and past the police tape when he heard the loud chatter of reporters. He had to hold back a laugh when one of them announced an agent was in critical condition. _Critical condition my ass…_

Yukhei was just fine, he was probably giving the paramedics a hard time if anything, because that man did not know when to shut up. _Obviously_ the agency checked on him first before allowing any of the authorities or EMTs to get to him. Secrecy was top priority above all else. Yukhei had gotten shot in the shoulder, but it wasn’t anything they weren’t all used to at this point in their career. Even Taeyong made an appearance. When he saw Yukhei’s goofy smile, he simply rolled his eyes and stormed (more like elegantly floated) back up to his office. They would handle the severity of a surprise attack later. They still had schedules to attend to, so Yukhei was thrown into an ambulance and taken away. They had a fully stocked and fully staffed medical ward just twelve floors above them, but for the sake of the public and not arousing any unnecessary questions and suspicions, they figured sending the ridiculously large man to a public hospital would probably be the best course of action.

_“Oh my god, Jeno, Jeno. You’re hovering. Stop hovering, you know I hate it. Jaemin, please tell your idiot of a friend to leave my office. He won’t listen to me.”_

“He’s _your_ boyfriend. Why would he listen to me?”

_“Jeno, no. Oh my god,” Renjun groans loudly into his ear. “That’s exactly why he won’t leave. Jeno, for god’s sake babe, I’m not gonna get shot in here!”_

Jaemin chuckles into the night air before sighing. “Jen, give the man some space. The attack was like…eight hours ago. Our precious Junnie is perfectly safe. Go do something productive, like beating up one of the trainees or something.”

_“Yeah, you love doing that! Go do that.”_

_“You both suck.”_ The pout on Jeno’s face is evident in his voice. Jaemin smiles widely as he pockets his dagger. A loud kissing sound is heard and then a shriek from Renjun, and then the line goes silent.

Just as Jaemin opens his mouth to speak again, a muted shattering sound is heard from one of the alleys. It’s quiet, but Jaemin’s senses are so heightened it sounds as if it were right below him.

“Renjun, check the CCTVs near every street and alleyway within a one mile radius. I heard something.”

After thirty seconds, Renjun speaks, much more professional and serious than their light conversation before. _“Three buildings over, turn to the left. It’s the alley between Chungmu-ro and Dadong-gil. An unmarked van is parked, I believe that’s them.”_

“On it.” Jaemin stands on the ledge and shakes out his legs, tightening the strings of his hood before bending his knees and launching himself across the air. He lands on the roof of the opposite building with a low thud. Another gust of wind ruffles his clothes as he sprints across the brick roof and launches himself onto the building in front of him. Yangyang and Yuta had gotten word of one of GH0ST’s exchanges. Every two months, a small group of men would meet a dealer at an unnamed location and engage in some form of “business.” The exchanges would typically take place in China, and Taeyong never deemed the situation dire enough to warrant a three hour plane ride. For whatever reason, tonight’s exchange was set up in Seoul.

When Jaemin lands on the third building, he crouches on the ledge and peers over just enough to look down into the darkness but not enough to reveal his position. The silence is filled with a heavy tension, so much so that it causes Jaemin to rest his hand on the gun holstered in his belt.

The light on the other side of the alley flickers on, and Jaemin’s eyes widen as the image before him unfolds. Two people are on the ground, and as they begin to thrash around, it becomes apparent which of the two is innocent and which is a GH0ST henchman.

Jaemin shuffles back away from the ledge, absolutely silent. Just as he’d predicted, it starts to snow, and he holds back a groan. Once he’s a decent distance away from the situation below, he whispers harshly into the earpiece.

“Renjun, I thought all of the shops were supposed to be closed tonight! This isn’t a populated neighborhood either, so why the hell is there a civilian caught up in GH0ST affairs?!”

_“Fuck.”_ Is Renjun’s only response.

Jaemin listens into the brawl down below and confirms that it hasn’t gotten life-threatening before responding.

“Fuck? Please tell me that’s a good fuck.”

_“It’s a fucking set up! One of the agents stationed in Shanghai just sent a message, this isn’t the real exchange!”_

“Oh fuck me,” Jaemin curses, standing tall and pulling out his gun. He rushes to the edge of the building and aims his gun at the back of the man’s head. The two had fought their way down the alley just a bit, but the position is in the perfect line of sight for Jaemin. Once confirming that the man on top is a GH0ST agent and not the unlucky bastard that just so happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time, he pulls the trigger.

_“Well now you’ve really done it,”_ Renjun sighs.

“Shut up, what the hell was I supposed to do? We can’t risk civilian’s lives just because our mission doesn’t deliberately involve rescue. Especially not a mission we’ve already fucked up. Yuta and Yang are dead when I get back.”

_“Yeah yeah, you can be all pissy about it later. There’s more coming, and since you’ve already revealed yourself, you might as well protect the innocent one with your life. They look like they’re about to piss themselves.”_

Despite the high stakes of the situation, Jaemin just sighs. He _really_ didn’t want to get his hands too dirty tonight, especially when it’s this cold and it’s this late. What the hell was this person even doing out so late, in a practically empty part of town, completely alone after the cautionary warning that was sent out that morning? And why the hell did GH0ST even pay attention to them…? The entire situation is just…odd.

He holsters his gun then drops down from the building before the three men can get too close to the citizen. He keeps his back turned to the shaking man (a quick once over was enough to deduce that) because he really doesn’t feel like revealing his identity to a complete stranger. Especially since he’s supposed to be dead to the public. Yeah, that’s a headache just waiting to happen.

Jaemin cracks his knuckles—the cold has made his fingers stiff—and quickly assesses the situation, decides on the best course of action, then launches himself toward the man on the floor. He wraps his fingers around the man’s slender wrist and pulls him down the darker end of the alley. He prays to god that this man has at least _some_ athletic ability, because if he trips, Jaemin might just lose his mind. As they continue darting through the darkness, Jaemin uses his free hand to unclip a small drone from his belt and launches into the air to give Renjun complete visuals of the situation.

_“Keep going, the alley across the street is dark, it’ll cover you guys,” Renjun says._

Bullets are fired and the walls and pipes around them spark with each shot, but after the second shot, Jaemin has to hold back a snort at their god awful aim. The man running clumsily behind him yelps and Jaemin’s brows knit together at the…familiar pitch of it.

They cross the street and Jaemin spots a dumpster. He pulls the man down behind it and cages him upon instinct. Up close like this, Jaemin realizes just how small this stranger is. His body is completely curled in on itself, probably from fear, but Jaemin knows he can’t pull away or else he’ll be seen. He aches to whisper _‘it’ll be over soon’,_ like he has to the numerous children he’s rescued. He hates when innocent bystanders get caught up in their business. At least the extra body heat rids of the chill crawling up any and every inch of his exposed skin.

He examines his surroundings and wants to yell at Renjun for the false information. _This alley isn’t dark at all. The moon is too damn bright._

_“Jaemin…”_ Renjun’s voice starts, hesitant and uncharacteristically strained. He sounds shocked. He knows Jaemin can’t respond, so after a few tense seconds, Renjun continues. _“GH0ST is here for a reason. This isn’t a coincidence and he isn’t just an innocent bystander… He’s…it’s Donghyuck.”_

The cold consumes Jaemin completely as all blood drains from his face. He’s certain that his heart has stopped. His heart has climbed its way into his throat. He returns his gaze to the man crouched against the wall and everything stops, simply ceases to exist.

The moonlight illuminates the edge of his golden face. Now that Jaemin has the image in his head, it’s all he sees. The thin lashes, the rounded tip of his nose, the plump lips that are raw from anxious biting. Donghyuck’s face is barely an inch away from his, and if it weren’t for the very _real_ nausea he feels and the cold of melting snowflakes against his skin, Jaemin would be convinced this is just another one of his dreams that would inevitably turn into a nightmare.

He has never felt such a strong desire to hold someone, keep them against his rapidly beating heart, and never fucking let go.

His internal meltdown ends when Renjun’s voice cuts straight through him. _“Jaemin, you have to focus.”_ His tone has changed. Renjun isn’t speaking to him as his agency partner, he’s speaking to him as his friend. _“You have to make it seem like this was all intentional. He’ll listen if you tell him I sent you.”_

Jaemin swallows the brick in his throat and taps the side of his neck, activating the voice modifier every agent wears when going on undercover missions.

“Renjun sent me. If you want to live, you must trust me and do exactly as I say,” Jaemin whispers directly into Donghyuck’s ears. He wishes his voice didn’t sound so threatening with its modified tone. 

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?! What if _you_ kill me?” Donghyuck, ever the realist, questions with a hushed tone. Jaemin has always been the more optimistic of the two. He can’t help the low chuckle that escapes him.

_‘That’s my boy…’_ Jaemin sighs to himself.

“You don’t have many options,” Jaemin responds with a bit of attitude, just to make it fun.

When a booming voice and shuffling footsteps interrupts Jaemin’s small bubble of short-lived contentment, he snaps his head to the side with a dangerous scowl. If he wasn’t already going to protect this man with his life, he sure as hell will now.

“When I say go, run down to the end of the alley and wait at the door there.”

Donghyuck must’ve realized that he doesn’t really have many options—he’s always been awfully perceptive, and Jaemin would be lying if he didn’t think it was undeniably attractive—because he gives Jaemin a hesitant nod, which is enough. Jaemin drops his arms and pulls back a bit, immediately missing the warmth. 

_“Five seconds,”_ Renjun states.

Jaemin crawls over and presses his back to the large dumpster. He's careful to keep his head tilted at an angle so the moonlight doesn’t reveal any of his features. His fingers wrap around the handle of his gun when he hears the footsteps approaching. 

_“Now!”_ Renjun shouts into his ear.

“Go!” Jaemin shouts, and as Donghyuck launches off the ground and starts darting down the alleyway, Jaemin peeks over the top of the dumpster and shoots at the men running toward them. It takes a couple shots—the darkness is interfering with his usually impeccable aim—before one of the men crumples to the ground. Jaemin fires off another warning shot then quickly chases after Donghyuck.

“Keep going!” Fortunately, Donghyuck starts to run faster. Jaemin wishes he could tell him how proud he is, knowing all too well how much Donghyuck has let himself go since Jaemin’s disappearance. If Jaemin had a dollar for every night he ached to just reach out, tell Donghyuck that he _needs to eat_ , he’d be living in blissful luxury. 

However, now is not the time to focus on past regrets and mistakes and unrealistic thinking. Donghyuck is here, now, and they’re both running for their lives. More or less.

Strong hands grab his waist in a painful grip. He scolds himself for letting his thoughts cloud his senses—he didn’t even hear the men catching up to him. He lets out a yelp of pained surprise and before he has a chance to get his bearings, a heavy fist meets his face.

He briefly notes that Donghyuck had stopped at the sound of his cry, and he wants to scream at him, tell him to just _go_ , to leave this _stranger_ behind, but the punches to his gut and face leave him a garbled mess.

_Okay, snap out of it Jaemin. You can overthink later._

Jaemin knees the man on top of him in the ribs, throws a few punches of his own, and it takes minimal effort to switch their positions so he’s the one controlling the fight. He elbows his attacker’s face and grabs his gun (which had slid off to the side when he fell), pushing the muzzle of it into the man’s stomach and pulling the trigger without a second thought. A lightning fast moment of regret flashes through his stomach as he looks up and finds Donghyuck’s wide, trembling eyes staring back at him.

Jaemin is just about to call out to him when more gunshots are fired and Donghyuck crouches down in fear, a desperate cry escaping his lips. Jaemin ignores the twang in his heart, he _has to_ , because any more distractions and one of them will be severely injured. If that were to happen, he’d make sure it was him.

He quickly stands over the limp body and doesn’t hesitate as he darts straight for the two men aiming their guns at him. He nimbley dodges the bullets and uses the fresh layer of thick snow beneath him to his advantage, sliding on his hip and popping up before shooting one of the men in the head.

Now that it’s just him and the man before him, the previous adrenaline coursing through his veins turns to red-hot passion. He has never and will never enjoy killing (he’s always been an excessively virtuous man), but there’s something oddly satisfying about knowing you’re saving the world by ridding it of its poison, whether that be through death or jail. Unfortunately, Jaemin rarely has a chance to choose between the situations, because if it were up to him, he’d always choose the latter.

Jaemin bends his knees and throws his feet straight into the brick wall next to him, using the momentum to swing his heavy boot into the man’s face. The moisture of snow makes everything slippery and a thousand times more difficult. Jaemin’s feet slip under him and he lands on his back, gun sinking into the snow. The last shooter throws himself on top of him and starts landing clumsy punches to Jaemin’s face. Unlike the last two, this man is completely unskilled, which makes him all the more difficult to deal with. Jaemin can’t recognize the patterns of his fighting style because he has none. Jaemin decides to take a different approach, normal punches won’t work on an unpredictable opponent. He wraps his legs around the GH0ST agent’s torso and pulls the man against him to wrap numb fingers around his neck.

His attacker throws frantic punches to his bruised jaw and nose before scrambling for a knife. Jaemin doesn’t see it in time, the close proximity of this man’s body and the swelling of his eye invading his line of sight. By the time his eyes catch sight of the silver glint, it’s too late. A groan is ripped from his throat as that familiar burning heat of a stab wound numbs his entire arm with sweltering pain.

He hears the frantic approach of Donghyuck and almost loses his composure, almost calls out to him and tells him to stay back. His mind is a bit frazzled, but he quickly elbows the man above him in the face and prays to god that Donghyuck stopped where he was. Jaemin tucks his knees up to his chest and kicks the man off before he can hit him again. He almost slips again with how thick the snow is forming beneath him, but he manages to clamor to his feet. His arm has gone completely numb with pain and maybe Renjun was right, maybe he wasn’t quite ready for a mission of such intensity, but he’s glad he got sent into the field. Otherwise, he’s not sure when he’d be able to see Donghyuck in person again. Although the situation is far from ideal, seeing Donghyuck’s face in any light, in any situation, is enough. It has to be enough. Jaemin cannot afford to be selfish.

Jaemin’s eyes dart around until he spots the gun metal hidden beneath a fresh sheet of powder. He dives for it and rolls forward before popping up and firing off a final shot. When the last GH0ST agent sinks into the snow, Jaemin pushes himself to his feet, and finally, he breathes. It’s both a breath of relief and a breath of fatigue. His breaths are deep and heavy and his chest rises and falls at a rapid pace. His pulse is deafening in his ears and for a moment, he loses himself to the silence of night. He doesn’t hear the thump of his gun as it sinks into red.

Well, tonight couldn’t have gone any worse.

Jaemin’s attention is brought to a sudden warmth. He then realizes and remembers the deep wound in his forearm. The blood is thick and hot as it drips down his wrist and saturates the stained snow beneath him. The paralyzing heat that engulfed his entire arm has subsided to a mellow buzzing. It’s nothing he hasn’t dealt with before. He was in this exact position a year ago, but it’s still annoying as all hell. His scars had just finished healing, dammit!

“Dammit,” he curses against his better judgement, because it’s just so _frustrating_.

_“Are you okay?”_ Renjun finally speaks. He doesn’t like interrupting or distracting his agents during missions unless strictly necessary. 

Jaemin can’t respond, so he looks to the right, where his drone from earlier is still buzzing in the air. He nods his head and gives Renjun a cheeky smile of triumph. He hears Renjun tsk, and the drone flies off.

_“Jaemin,”_ Renjun starts in a heavy tone. _“What you do next is entirely at your own discretion. As you know, we’ve already discussed the situation regarding Donghyuck. So whatever it is you choose to do, the agency will support you. I trust you will make a decision that benefits all parties involved. As your communications director, I urge you to take precautions and think deeply about what it means if you are to get him involved. You have to be prepared for a negative reaction as well. This lifestyle is not suited for everyone.”_

Renjun lets out a long, tired sigh.

_“But as your friend? I encourage you to reveal yourself and everything that’s been going. If anyone will understand, it will be Donghyuck. He needs you by his side now more than ever, and you know deep down he’ll never be free from harm, not as long as GH0ST is still out there. I truly believe that… it’s time to stop hiding, Jaem. It’s time to stop suffering alone. You both deserve each other, and I know you’re both strong enough to get through whatever shitstorm comes next.”_

Jaemin’s mind was set before Renjun even opened his mouth, but now, he has never felt so sure of a decision in his entire life. He knows what needs to be done. Like a sunset needs its colors, like the moon needs its stars, like a fire needs its flame. He _needs_ Donghyuck, and Donghyuck _needs him_.

_“You’re on your own now, Jaem. Be back at the agency by ten. Taeyong will want to see you, and we need to brief the team before midnight patrols start.”_

It’s silent again. Jaemin inhales, counts one snowflake, and then another, then turns to face the reason for his existence completely. Unhindered and unapologetically, he reveals himself.

The moonlight beaming down upon them is bright, and the way it reflects upon the newly whitened snow illuminates their surroundings, turning everything to diamonds and glass.

The snowflakes sparkle like the thick tears currently forming in Donghyuck’s eyes as his lover stares at him, eyes replaced with full moons. Tears of his own are forming and he hates them, futilely blinks them away because he absolutely _refuses_ to allow anything to obstruct his vision of the gorgeous man before him. The man of his dreams and nightmares all the same.

He won’t allow anyone or _anything_ to remove Donghyuck from his line of sight ever again. He will not lose him again. He swears it, because the time Jaemin was forced to spend away from Donghyuck has only made him that much more precious. He’s a precious gift, but you always treat a precious gift more tenderly, look after it more closely. Expecting it to break is what makes you handle it with care, knowing how catastrophic it would be if you were to lose it. Somehow all that pressure around it makes it that much more special.

Jaemin wants to call out to him, both apologize and declare his undying love all in the same sentence. He wants to say something, _anything_ , but his voice box is crushed by the sob crawling its way up his throat. There are so many emotions crashing through his mind and body. He feels remorseful, guilty, sorrowful, but most of all: he feels complete euphoria.

Thankfully, Donghyuck finds his voice first.

“J-Jaemin?”

Hearing his name—albeit strained and choked—slip from those alluring lips breaks the wall of restraint Jaemin had spent the past year building up, brick by grueling brick. Donghyuck has always been his wrecking ball.

Jaemin is sure the smile that makes its way onto his lips is crooked and too wide and maybe it looks a little ugly, but Jaemin is the furthest thing from caring as he takes in the heavenly sight before him. Donghyuck is beautiful, always has been and always will be. He’s noticeably skinnier than the last time he saw him in person, his cheeks have sunken in a bit and the bags beneath his eyes are dark and heavy. His hair is an absolute mess, dirt and grime and blood muddle his golden skin. His cheeks have a few pimples from permanent stress and anxiety, his lips are chapped and bitten raw, and _god_ , Jaemin is so fucking in love with Donghyuck and everything that is Donghyuck, it physically _aches_.

Suddenly, he remembers he has yet to respond to the literal deity standing, _shaking_ before him.

Only one response comes to mind. A name, _his name_ , that only Jaemin (and Jaemin’s family) have used on Donghyuck before. It holds a heavy weight behind it, years of tears and kisses and caresses. It may be a single word, a nickname, but for now, it is a suitable enough answer to all of the questions so blatantly swimming in Donghyuck’s large eyes.

“Duckie.”

Donghyuck crumples to the snow-ridden floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case it was not made clear, Jaemin is Korean, but he was adopted by the Nakamoto family when he was three! He was born and raised in Japan, hence why he and Yuta speak Japanese when talking to each other, and address each other using Japanese honorifics (onii-chan: big brother). They moved to Korea when Jaemin was about to enter middle school and Yuta in his final year of high school, and that’s when they met Jeno! As of right now in the story, not much is known about Jeno’s past life before meeting the Nakamoto’s.
> 
> Jeno learned to speak Japanese through his job, so he will speak Japanese when addressing the (Na)kamoto brothers as it feels more intimate to speak their native language. 
> 
> When in groups, they will all speak Korean as it is the common language spoken amongst all agents, and the story takes place in Seoul ^—^ I hope this clears up any confusion!

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading <3  
> comments and kudos are greatly appreciated ^—^
> 
>   
> if you’re interested in reading more of my work, feel free to check out my [twitter](https://twitter.com/rainyjaem) where i write short fics & aus.
> 
>   
> [my beta](https://twitter.com/itzinnie)  
> [yell at me here!](https://curiouscat.me/rainyjaem)


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